Tonight, you’re telling me to drink more. And more…and more.
You’re telling me that I’m not worth it. You’re telling me that I should give in, give up.
You are trying to convince me that I’m not lovable, that in fact, my husband laying next to me is a liar for trying to convince me otherwise.
You’re trying to tell me that I’ve failed, and that all I will continue to do is fail.
You are trying to paint me as a monster, as unworthy, as a problem. As the problem.
You’re trying to convince me that I need to cause myself pain, because frankly I deserve it.
You’re trying to tell me that it was my fault, that I deserved it. That I deserved to be raped. That it was my own fucking fault.
But see, I know your game. We do this dance every day, every night.
I’m trying to be stronger than you now. You’re voice is no longer the only one I hear.
Your voice is loud, no doubt. But it is not the only one I hear.
And still, I pour another drink in hopes to drown you out. Really though…I know that only makes you louder. More valid. More lined up with a false reality.
I want to silence you, voice of hatred. I no longer have room for you here. My life is hard enough without your insistence of self doubt.
I need to be strong now, because there is no one to be strong for me, and I will surely lose endurance soon. I can’t have you working against me.
Self love vs. self hate. A forever long battle it seems.
I know who I want the winner to be, but the weight of the world is unbearably heavy sometimes.