You live in me. Honey, you set up camp. You planted that first seed, and wanted to watch it grow, I pull out the roots but it just keeps coming. This is depression, this is your end goal to see me fail. Youâre my roommate that wants me to move out. You eat all my food and insult my clothes and never take down my messages. You, the real you hasnât talked to me in 4 years, but you still live here. You have youâre own room, and you take over mine whenever you dam well please. You shred everything thatâs important to me with the ease only a seasoned professional is capable of. 4 years, the time it takes to graduate highschool. 4years, the time between presidents. 4years, is what it took me to work up the courage to finally ask you to move out. You wonât.. because you canât⌠17 years of abuse canât be erased in 4. 17 years of belittling, beating down, and outright abuse takes time to smudge away. I no longer see your face in my nightmares. You are no longer the first thought I have at the beginning of my day. Youâre a whisper, a nudge, the turning of my stomach. But you donât scare me anymore. You canât hurt me like you did anymore. Iâm not that little kid with their suit case always packed but afraid youâll find it, because wanting to run but being afraid to isnât my every day anymore. I donât own a suit case anymore. I donât speak the words to qualm the anger out of habit anymore. I donât shrink back as much anymore. Iâm healing, and you hate that, but who gives a fuck what you want anyway. You donât pay rent here anymore.
