Jessie

You come into my head. You talk and talk, about things that happened in my past. Are you real? Are they real? Are you just a kid who likes to make up stories? I sit here, sometimes listen to you, yelling at me, telling me to kill myself. You’re strong, and I feel you taking over. I want to go to the kitchen, get a knife from the block, listen to your encouraging little voice. “Do it Jess. Just do it. End the pain,” you say. I want to slip the knife between my ribs, or just stab it right in my heart, take the physical hurt over your emotional hurt. Jessi, you hurt me. Jessi, you bring me joy. Jessi, you want to bring me short relief before the flames of hell take me over? Is that what you want? For me to die? Because you want to die? Your words are whisspered, when you want me to die. you want all the power, you drain my energy with your need to take me over and make me kill myself. To take the pain, to swallow the bottle, to cut a little deeper, to feel the blood flowing. No!!!! I won’t let you make me think those thoughts. Jessi? I love you, Jessi. You won’t take me over, you won’t make me do anything. You’re strong, but I’m stronger. I’m in control, not you. I keep thinking those thoughts as the headaches set in. Sometimes I just want to end it, so I won’t have the pain. I love you, but I don’t. I’m hurting, but I know you are too. My thoughts fade as you take over, as you slowly take over everything. Such a little girl, so many tears, so much anger, so much pain. Will it ever end? Will we end first? Will you succeed? Am I insane? Are you? Are we?…