Rebirth

It’s been about a year since I’ve had to chew and swallow your bits and pieces. Every now and then I feel the after effects of the narcissistic abuse you've given to me, and sometimes it's as simple as me noticing someone with a full head of curly brown hair. The post trauma picks at my scabs and leaves them wide open and bloody, never fully healed. I’ve developed a refined acquired taste for buttered over-burnt edges and bitterness. The hostility turned into familiarity turned into clarity. I took the smell of salt water home with me after all the days I spent emptying my obsession into repression into depression. Anything you’ve ever touched has been burned because you won’t be here to touch any tangible material again. I still smell your breath the night you pushed me into traffic and dared me to move a muscle. Precariously, I tuck myself tightly into bed, just incase you pull the sheets out from under me. I've told you before; it's not a magic trick if I don't disappear.

I still hear your echoed screaming down my road. I still feel the film you left on my cheek when you spit at my face. It felt like the same day repeating; over; and over; and over; again.

Sometimes I wonder if you’re an angel or a devil or a floating white light. Maybe you’re the disappointment I feel when a drive takes me too long, or the remaining 0:34 seconds of a sad song, or my offended expression when I realize I was wrong. You’ve lived on as you wished, but you’ve left a smudged mark. It looks unsightly on my living room pillows. You smell like sewage and taste like vinegar and feel like gravel. By the time you had escaped your body and your voice was unrecognizable, I had seen it coming and felt nothing. You sounded more high pitched than usual on the brink of tears, and your brows had shaped into worry, confusion and intense sadness. My tears tugged viciously on the veins in my eyes when I realized that I had been so used to feeling everything. The screams of guilt were so loud I couldn't ignore them, and a smile spread permanently across my face when they placed the thermometer under your tongue. I was as numb as you felt when you looked into my eyes before and stole things that I didn’t know I had. You emptied me and squeezed me out like the last tube of toothpaste. You must use a lot of toothpaste to clean that vile mouth.

How strange is it to walk through the house you once called home and feel the urge to burn it down? I clenched my jaw in anticipation every night wandering through your hallways and waiting for you to jump out and scare me, laughing as I tripped and calling it a joke. At first it felt like I belonged here. This was my place to care for you, to tuck you into bed and kiss you on the forehead. You used to encapsulate me in this home for months that turned into years. The polished wooden floors disintegrated into quick sand. I know every door in this place, including the fact that there was no escape.

When I noticed you were sick, it scraped me. It didn't puncture any lungs or break any bones; there were only minor injuries. I saw an escape. Your demons nested into your brain and began to hatch eggs. I would not be here for the rebirth.

If your rebirth is my rebirth that could be the only explanation. They carried you off into an ambulance and I waved goodbye to your frightened face. I'll always remember the expression you had when you started to believe that the helicopters in the sky were spying on you. I packed my bags as fast as I could. It's time to leave while I still can - it seems that your tragedy is my victory. I am sorry the story ends this way, but I can't listen to your stories about how you are a disciple of Jesus. Everything is of significant relevance to you now. That song on the radio was not about you, it's not about you, it's not ever about you!

I wanted to cry. I wanted to mourn the loss of you and curse at the universe for ripping you away, but no tears would come out. Believe me, please, I'm not an awful person. I felt your energy transfer into me when they drove you away strapped into that seat. I do believe your weakness was my strength, you know. I saw myself in your panicked eyes and it satisfied me. I finished a large plate of dinner while you starved. This wasn't your illness all along until now. You were already toxic. You just happened to drink more poison.

You twisted your neck and couldn’t recognize your own reflection as I widened my eyes and watched. You looked down at your thieving hands and it felt so good to watch you in a crippling state of panic. I had burned myself on the stove that you had left on for too long. My peeling skin reminded me of the layers you had stripped me of just to ridicule my vulnerability. I would have written more about you when we first met, but I don't remember you at all. It's very strange. I still feel every feeling I felt - I could name them all with ease. I just can't quite put a face to them.

You’ve disappeared and left me wishing you had done so earlier. That is the worst kind of loss.