Do you really know me like you say you do?
I don't like existing in memories of others when I cannot remember my own.
You can't possibly remember me.
It makes me so angry when you tell me that,
angry that I can't verify it,
angry that those ideas of me still linger,
angry that my past exists at all.
I want to purge this dissociative self
I used to be from all consciousness,
and it isn't fair that you can still remember her.
I am so mad that you can compare me now to me before
and that you can clearly recollect all the signs.
I am so envious that I couldn't have seen the signs myself when it was happening and that I still can't now.
I envy the way you can tip your sight backward to how I was before and that you can see the progress.
I want to see it too.
I am so angry
and this feeling burns my throat
when you remind me of what you know.