Life's a funny old time
When I was younger
I thought I knew exactly how my life would turn out and who I would be
Now
After so much pain and trauma and accomplishments and perseverance
I no longer align with who I thought I'd be at this age in my life
I stare into mirrors and see someone who doesn't look familiar
Foreign
She is a glaring reminder that I've grown into someone I am not yet intimate with
I do not know her
She's busied herself with working overtime
Enmeshed in depression
Her first love
Mary
And the night shift life
It's a hard pill to swallow
Coming to terms with the discrepancy between who I thought I'd be with who I feel I am now
It's a constant tug between accepting and denying this reality
I wish I could continue sleep walking in the numbness this long season of depression has granted me
But I move to days in three short weeks
9 shifts left
I honor this time but recognize I am ready to set this time in my life down
It will be greatly missed
But I need day light to find time in my week to fall in love with myself again
Learning who I am now
Embracing the ways in which I've shrunk and stretched and collapsed
Exploring through boredom and hobbies old and new

How sad is it
That I cry
When someone who hurts me
Leaves

I'm not sure I've been self aware of this feeling before

Not as of late

I've tried so hard to refrain from behaving in a way that aligns with the feeling of hating who I become when I'm around another

And yet

Here she is
Mocking me again
I can't escape her
I'm tantalizingly pulled back into this familiar neural pathway of connection

I'm sorry
Sorry I instigate you intentionally

Trying to get you to lash out
So that I can lick my own wounds
Unknowingly giving you the whip intentionally
So that I may cling to the narrative of victim and transgressed
The only one who has the "right" to be upset
So that I may disregard the ugly behavior I myself have transgressed against you

I'm sorry

I know I'll go hauntingly silent mid-argument

I freeze

It's a moment of realization for myself

A mirror pushed in front of my face
A hand squishing my cheeks painfully and around my jawline
Forcing me to look at my many existent shadows in the bright fluorescent lights that cause me to wince

I can't dare whisper it out loud
No
I cannot

But I can write it in a poem
I harm
I hurt
I become brutal with my choice of words

I have temper tantrums as a twenty-four year old woman
I seldomly had the ability to when I was a kid
Not with childhood trauma and emotionally abused parents who passed on less abuse than they endured

And for that
I'm sorry
You don't deserve it
You don't deserve to take on the brunt of my parents' responsibilities

They failed me
And in you I find solace and self contempt and confusion

I'm sorry
I can't fully formulate into words what I'm doing and why
It doesn't make sense to me
And it leaves me with a mysterious shape of confusion

There is a sweetness to it
To know I can hurt you
And you can embrace it
Unlike like those who failed me when I was all too young
Sorry

I guess it's a natural by-product when you have someone you feel safe enough with to enact your trauma onto
But it doesn't take away the chronically exhaustive tone our relationship is colored in