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the act of becoming

raging against your theft

I am angry.

I am angry with you.

The rage builds and bubbles, jostling my insides and making my world feel unhinged.

I am angry.

I am angry with you.

You text me. I ignore you. Your texts beckon to me. I would block you, but I know you would find me. Better to give you a small crumb then to engage your stalking tendencies. Or is it?

I am angry at you. My insides rage against you. The idea of you. Your existence. Your existence unhinges mine.

This is what you want. I know it to be true.

Any part of me, you reason, is better than none.

You stole my sense of safety. Yes, men, particularly large men, have always erupted a sense of fear inside of me, at least for as long as I remember. This fact enrages me as well. Why is this so? Why do my insides tremble when men hover near me? What am I not remembering?

And now there was you. You. I hate you. My insides rumble when I think of you. I want to never think of you again. But you are inside of my insides. You are inside of me. My safety is gone. My sense of self is disturbed, destroyed, annihilated. You shattered it. You shattered me.

I am broken pieces, tumbled together, unglued, unsecured. Unsafe.

I am angry.

I am angry with you.

How can I ever feel safe again? How do I move on? Moving away has no impact. I am still broken pieces. I cannot simply escape your grasp. Because you are inside of me.

I cringe when men come near me. My skin crawls. My insides itch and clammer. I ache to flee. But what I fear is in me.

I am angry.

You enrage me. How dare you steal what was mine? I will never feel safe. You stole that from me. I want it back. But I will always know that I cannot protect myself.  You showed that to me. You made me KNOW that I am not safe, that I cannot protect myself. Maybe I should thank you. But I hate you.

I am angry.

I am angry with you.

Your existence enrages mine. I am angry. I am enraged.

I want you to cease to exist.

I have moved on. I have changed my life.

But your crumbs remain.

About Sionainn Gealach

I am a mother, librarian, teacher, writer, philosopher, and sometimes I have even been known to love someone. Sionainn Gaelach is Gaelic for "Shannon Moon". Neither are my real name.


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