Hysterical letters to my sanity

Sickening gratitude

And I remember feeling grateful, a sickening kind of grateful and spoiled, spoiled rotten in fact, because while I had felt this curse of so called injustice dig it's claws into my shoulders for as many years as I could count, I couldn't remember a moment where I didn't find satisfaction in the idea of full control over myself and everything. I was constantly fully filled or empty. And in that I knew I was a skilled opponent of my father, he was angry, and filled with shame and denial, he wished his force and rage had been passed to a son not his only daughter, eldest daughter, a second wife and mother to his boys. A sober adult before I even hit puberty, a respectable young lady on the outside always polite and well mannered while behind closed doors I felt like an ugly little demon, a monster in girly flesh. So when I gained enough age to have my rage take up its own space in my body I also gained enough space physically to no longer be sweet and attainable. When the fragile ecosystem of my petite and childish frame, became unworthy to the people who stared down at me I let my rage boil over and I became improper, and loud, I shouted and wore black and cursed at the old men who peered for too long. And I grew into a child in a adults body. I became feverish to be liked as I approached high school and when I fell into myself, a mind so far wrapped with ideas and anger, my only time to be a child was outside of my home yet I was looked at in such a dirty way. To be childish and a teenager is to prey to a fantasy. To attempt to be grown as a child is to fall into the same fantasy. You really cannot win and now I am a woman, I am twenty something and I have never felt so young in my life. I have realized all the pain that I didn't plan on realizing is just here now same as me. We are both just here looking at each other neither expecting the other to still be here. A diseased mind in the same pretty form, and I am the same child I was in the beginning. And everytime I wear white I feel pure again and innocent, like all the rage and ugliness is just irony now. But is it really?