quitting

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Disorganized – spoken word

Read this with as much rage as you can:

*****

My room is disorganized,
As is my brain –
As is my attachment to my parents.
Disorganized attachment
Brought on from years of
“loving abuse.”

The first memory I hold
was not of physical abuse,
Nor sexual –
Rather a recollection of neglect
The moment they implanted in my brain:
I am not deserving of love

Following were years
Of sexual and physical abuse –
Teaching me that I deserve pain.
Teaching me to search for that
In every partner, in every person.

If you asked my second grade teacher
What she thought of me
She would tell you,
I never came to school without a smile.
What she did not know,
Is that I feared if I did not act perfectly
She would do the same as my parents did to me.

Because my gapped tooth smile
Held for me, secrets:
I would not consider revealing
For at least 15 years.
Because even braces couldn’t hide the gap
That came back despite a retainer.
Because you could retain me for as long as you wanted
With threats and fear and pain
But in the end, those gaps in my memory
Are revealed

My second grade teacher never knew
The anger and resentment I felt
When she disapproved of me.
The heat that washed over my face
Like the first dog day of summer
So hot that movement only created more pain.

Pain. I searched for it.
I search for it.
Because it is that on which I was brought up.
I want to hurt myself in the same ways.
I want to hurt myself in different ways.
I want to be free from them
Only to be trapped by them in my mind.
I hear them.
“You are a rotten child.”
“you are ungrateful”
“you don’t know what’s best for you, I do.”

I don’t know what’s best for me?
Please.
Take a second and think about that, fucker.
What is best for me?
I’ll tell you:
It’s not you.

You are the tornado that stormed my brain
Causing me to split and split and split
Causing the above-ground pool to collapse
And wash poisoned unchlorinated water
Through my veins.
Causing my synaptic gaps to widen
Larger than the gap between my two front teeth
And as sparks pop in my brain
The neurotransmitters can’t seem to make their way
From one junction to the next.
Because you are the restraints that held me to the gurney
As they wheeled me into the ambulance for more treatment
And you are the memories.

You are not my present
And no way in hell do you know what’s best for Me.

So walk on out that door, bitch.
Drink your overfilled mug of coffee
And slave over your work which has become your life.
Let that be your life.
I am not that.
Abuse your work
Abuse yourself.
But do not abuse me and tell me that’s what is best for me.

I am my own person.
I am my own person
Goddammit, hear me when I say
I AM MY OWN FUCKING PERSON.
You can’t control me anymore.
You can’t hurt me if I don’t let you.
And I won’t let you.
I don’t need you –

But don’t get me wrong.
Because this is disorganized
And despite all this fucking rage,
I am confused
Because I still love you.
And I still fucking want you.

And that is why I search for pain.
Because without you I need to give it to myself.
How do you still have this power over me?
I don’t need you in my brain.
And one day you won’t be there.

I can’t fit into your labels
Nor do I want to.
The only label I want to fit in
Is my own.
I want to bind my chest
And I want to cut my hair.
I want to feel okay
And I want to choose my doctors
And choose my career
And I don’t care if you disapprove
Because your opinion is as valid
As fake news and alternative facts.

Don’t expect a call back from me
Or a call reaching out.
I know what’s best for me
I’m not taking chances.
Don’t hurt me and tell me you love me.
I’m not here for jokes.
I’m not here for you.
I’m here for me.
I am here for me

-cdk