Arguing With “Her”

‘Don’t get too close.
Never let anyone see everything.
Too much;
no one could handle them.
She knew that.

‘They always leave in the end—drop off like flies.’
Even when she hid the worst,
the “best” of the worst was still too much.
She was insufferable.
She was right again.
And again, she knew that, too.

‘Who could ever want… this?
For once,
she agreed with the bitch.
No fight.
She was nothing to look at.
She saw that lazy eye,
even if slight.
That extra fat, extra skin.
Cheeks, chin,
bat-winged arm flaps,
stomach (freshly-baked muffin tops, anyone?),
thighs.
And the scars.

‘Don’t blame me. You did that allllll on your own.’
Bullshit.
She remembered almost nothing.
Just snapshots,
almost like crime scene photos.
This was her doing.
The physical evidence of insanity.
And what the fuck else could they be?
Semi-uniform lines,
crossing over others,
some thick,
some thin,
lining arms, thighs, and calves in layers.
Destroy,
heal,
lighten,
repeat.
Repulsive.

‘A future?’
That cruel laughter…
Rattled her brain,
nearly sent her into hysterics,
in public even.
That was for her own amusement.
The bitch was… still right.
Even as a little girl with a softball bat and a cheeky grin,
she was always in awe when she started the next grade level,
amazed she’d made it that far.

‘We both know it’s only a matter of time; you’ll do it regardless.’
She wanted to argue,
but could she?
A void:
black, empty.
Nothing.
She’d never seen anything else.
Maybe that was her future.
The near future.

‘You’re a lost cause. Doomed from the time you took your first breath.
She needed to stop being fucking right.
Nothing worked.
She couldn’t even be labeled for treatment properly.
Can’t treat what you can’t diagnose.
Just fuck the thing up more.

‘Get it over with. Selfish prick.’
The longer she stayed,
the longer those she met “knew” her.
The longer she stayed,
the larger her pool of acquaintances grew.
They wouldn’t see right away that she was doing them a favor—
that they would be far better off without her.
She’d be doing them a service.
She was going to do them a favor.

‘I should start… making arrangements.’

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Author: Elendarin

Student pursuing a degree in psychology with a concentration in clinical psych. I enjoy writing, watching baseball, foreign languages, and being a massive nerd.

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