I hate her. This me. She has snuck back into my life through an unwatched door, swiftly and subversively poisoning all that had been cleansed. She was not welcome at incarnation and she is not welcome now. She laughs at the progress, the healing, the time – and in one swift roll of the eyes, it all unravels before her.
I hate her. This me that I am not, and that I will not be. She brings fear and hate and vengeful thoughts that suffocate my chosen changes. She brings all that is unwell within me, all that is unwell outside of me. She divides and in doing so conquers only me.
I hate her, this me. I fought for my life outside of her once, twice, more perhaps. She was not welcome then and she is not welcome now.
I hate her. This me. She is the worst of me.
She is bitter and ruthless. She is agony. She is all the parts I shed and she is not allowed to destroy a future that has not yet been written. But here she is, and I cannot find her weakness.
I fear she is unbeatable and unbearable and I have no escape within myself from her hopelessness.
I hate her. This me.