I am fermented screams and pulled punches.
I am the distilled match I cannot light.
I am a gag reflex of forgotten exchange.
Forgotten pre-apologies, forgotten pre-cries, forgotten pre-anger...
I have been these things for longer than I realize. I thought for a long time I had moved past this, but no--I’ve come to the realization that my old mentality resides in me somewhere deep and it’s stopping me from progressing. I’ll say these hidden urges have concealed themselves well, camouflaging into new passions in the means to survive. Living on the scrounges of the old me, nibbling on whatever scratches of her remain. Appearing in new ways I’m not used to--which is why it was so hard to pick up on the fact that they still existed.
I’ve recently found them hidden in my tolerance to frustration.
This secret vexation I carry over the years has aged into anxiety and insecurities I cannot begin to decipher. Layer behind layers of torn up aims and ambitions--character traits either lost in the wind or turned into something ugly.
It would be easy to blame this on singular circumstances the way I want to.
It would be really easy to blame it on the childhood memories that loom behind me, somewhere in my shadow, hidden in my mannerisms and general character.
Like when I flinch too hard and I always easily get startled in sleep--
Or like when I panic, I don’t react, I wait for the blow--
Or whenever I hear her talk too loud, my nerves insist I did something wrong--
In truth, it would be really easy to blame her--but I won’t.
It’s too easy. It’s too conflicting.
She’s my mother. The oracle of life who can do no wrong. She gave birth to me. She cares for me. She loves me. She’s given me so much.
Doesn’t that hold me accountable? Doesn’t the strain from me justify her actions?
Maybe I’m just a difficult child, maybe that’s why she acts the way she does.
If I ask her why, she’d say something along the lines of that probably.
Maybe more cussing and slurs, and more malicious with an intent to hurt--
But yeah she’d say something like that.
I tried not to think about the “why” a lot.
Making sense of any of it at all.
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