Reason why I am not knitting enough

While I know this is a knitting blog, I wanted to post my first creative nonfiction writing piece for the world to see. This is my attempt at a "lyrical essay." I am still working on it, so don't judge too harshly. Hopefully you can figure out who "she" is.

She haunts me.

When I was in first grade, she kept me fearful of reading a word out loud. Her whispers in my ear made me hide in the bathroom for hours after peeing my pants in Preschool. My teacher was the hero who came into the bathroom with fresh underwear and rescued me from her painful nails raking my skull.

Second through fifth grades were painful. She coaxed my friends into revoking their friendships. She joined older girls on the playground or in the hallway when they would mock my walk, hair, family, or figure.

I thought she would be long gone when I changed schools. Perhaps she faded for a bit, but never longer than a week or two. During those few days her voice grew weak and my smile grew stronger.
But she always came back to taunt me, and in high school she returned stronger, harsher, and sharper.

Not a day went by my freshman year of high school when she did not whisper in my ear. Sometimes I would confide in her just because she was the only one around willing to lend an ear. My anger and self-pity thrived in her presence like the kudzu in Louisiana.

For months the poison of her words coursed through my veins. Until one day…one day I made a new friend. My haunting shadow relaxed her grip on my thoughts while I played video games with my boyfriend.
The world seemed bright yellow and fuzzy while my attention was focused on him instead of her.

Then, I think he started listening to her. She got to him and he got to me. I couldn’t love him after she had left her tainted scent on our relationship.

Happily she straddled my back as my confidence and composure plummeted together into the black hole under my childhood mattress.

For over a year my eyesight was dark and blurry, my mouth snide and snappy, and my head felt like she was gnawing some of it off.
Once again I had scared off and rejected every living thing capable of love or affection. Or, at least that’s what I thought.

And then he saved me. Slowly. He was like Galadriel or Michael or my knight in shining armor.
Something unexpected but necessary.

He didn’t mind my malicious remarks or my dislike of the world around me. He was my light at the end of a very long, dark headache.

I don’t think he even believes she exists. If he does, he knows she is no friend of his nor mine.

I know I listen to her deep, rasping sneer far too often, but I am weak. I have become dependent on her negativity. When I need to write a paper, give a presentation, sell my work, ride my bike, or even wear a pretty dress, she is there telling me how worthless I am. I am a complete failure and nothing I do will ever be good or exceptional.

But she is just a whisper compared to my scream.

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