She is me and I am her and no one likes us.
But.
But the anger is always there. Bubbling away like an underground stream. A contaminated, vile underground stream. The level of hate is ridiculous - I have no patience for you. For your stupidity, your willful ignorance, your martyrdom, your self-pity, your insolence. I feel a level of violence well up inside me that frightens me. Normal people do not experience this. My heart clutches in my chest, I can barely breathe and all I want to do is strike out. You won't like me when the part of me that is fed up with you emerges.
I am not responsible for her.
Not her emotions. Not her feelings. Not her insecurities. Not her.
It's about that time again. The hospital.
I try to even out but it does not work anymore.
The stress, the anxiety, the loathing - it never really leaves.
I'm sad but I don't need your pity or contempt.
I'm coming to terms with what must happen - the conclusion to the angst.
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