I hate her
There.
I said it.
I became the type of person I dislike more: a hateful one.
My heart is heavy with despise and venom.
My mind is full of unrealistic scenarios in which she disappears.
No, there’s no rational reason.
It doesn’t mean is less valid.
She’s the embodiment of my deepest and ugliest insecurities: abandonment, low self-esteem and the past.
She’s a reminder of all the things I did wrong. Of all the things I wish I was — physically. Of not being the first choice once.
She’s a reminder of a bunch of what ifs that haunt me at the back of my mind.
And she’s winning.
She’s winning because it takes away my peace of mind.
She’s winning because she’s still in my life.
She’s winning because she has power over me.
She’s winning because she knows it hurts me and doesn’t get away.
She’s winning because I became someone despicable.
She’s winning because I want her gone.