Last night I was not myself.
I was no one.
I was nowhere.
I had no fingerprints.
My hair was not mine.
My skin felt foreign.
I felt like a fraud that no one could see.
His gaze heavy with fervor, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet it.
for my eyes were not mine.
I wanted to want all the things I normally want, but I was not me.
There was a disconnect.
All of my serotonin had been used up.
There was nothing left.
He said, “It’s alright. You will be yourself again soon.”
He seemed to understand exactly how I felt.
Even though I was not acting like the girl he fell in love with.
I was acting like a clone of her.
A clone that didn’t quite know how to be her.
But he was good for her. Not like the others.
It was nice to know she got what she deserved.
I knew she wouldn’t want to miss this.
Just an hour ago she was in pure bliss.
Everything was right. Everyone was right. Every moment mattered.
Every moment counted.
What happened to her? Where did she go? I missed her terribly.
I should not be in the limelight.
I should always be in the background. Deep deep down.
When I’m shoved to the forefront terrible things happen.
I’ve hurt her so many times.
Left her with scars that she did not cause.
Left her heart with a burden that she did not create.
And she has forgiven me so many times.
I wish I was stronger, but I am not.
All I can do is try to hold on till she can take over.
She tries to explain me to others, but I am what they call a stigma.
Most do not understand.
I just wanted him to be right.
That it would be over soon and I could rest.
I could watch her take on the world as she can when I’m at bay.
This morning I woke up and I was back in my little room.
I was cozy and warm under my covers. She had been here. She had been locked up in this room.
For her it is torture. She doesn’t belong here. This is my place.
She was back in her own body. In her own brain, and she felt at peace.
And he was so glad.
And so was I.
For her hair, her hands, her skin, her life –
are not mine.