My Inner Child

A therapist once suggested to me that I think of my own needs as those of a child. That I get in touch with the younger version of myself- nurture her, take care of her, help her. I thought it was a nice idea in theory. But really? I hate her. I hate her whining, her neediness, her constant wanting. Wanting food, attention, love, affection. I hate that she exists, and demands the things that I don't want to give her. I hear her crying out for something and I want to turn away and ignore her. I see her tears, I watch her starve, I feel her hands reaching out to me... I don't want her to exist.

I can't feed her.
I can't listen to her.
I can't help her.
I can't be around her.

Why not? She irritates me. She is demanding things that to me, are a luxury. Not a right. Love, attention, friendship, relationships, happiness, food- none of it is a given. For me, it needs to be earned. I wasn't born with the right to be taken care of, and I sure as hell haven't earned that right.

This child is me. Begging, pleading, screaming. And being ignored. She's worthless. Useless. Stupid. Overly demanding. Selfish. She cries that this is unfair- she is lonely, tired, hungry, scared, sad. I don't care. I hate her.

I want her to go away with her hopes and dreams and fairytale life she has fantasised about. I want her to leave me alone and accept that I will never give her what she wants. I want her to disappear without trace, as if she was never even here to begin with.

Fade away. Until nothing is left.