I can self-reflect if I want to.

I’m writing this to you because I’m crazy. If I could look inside my body right now, I know I would find all of my vital organs, the last cookie I ate floating around somewhere, and some traces of you. I’ve decided that you are a ghost. An evil spirit, an entity, an idiot, all of that, and you’re powerful because somehow you have managed to transcend the pages of my journal and the fingerprints on my cups and the smell on my sweaters, and you’ve made yourself at home in my bones. I can imagine you sitting against my rib cage, finding cushion on one of my lungs, waiting for the first sign of feelings from my heart so you can have your dinner. You feed off of my emotions, find nutrients in my anxiety, find rest in my discomfort. I’m writing this to you because I’m angry.

I cannot get you out of me. I can shake, but you won’t come loose. I can scream, but you won’t crawl out. I can cry, but you still will not drown. My last resort is to concede. I can let you live in me. I can let you destroy my future relationships, I can let you eat from my heart. I’m writing this to you because I don’t know what you want.

I can feel you moving around and trying to get comfortable inside of me. You hurt sometimes, but I make it through my day anyway. I don’t know why of all the women who have loved you before, you chose to permanently inhabit me. I made you breakfast, I gave you good birthdays, I prayed for you before I prayed for myself, I loved you. And in turn, you make my heart your entertainment system — playing patty-cake with my feelings, jumping rope with my loyalty to you. I’m writing you this because I am frustrated.

I don’t want to love you anymore. I don’t want to think about you before I go to sleep. I don’t know why everyone I see looks like you and I don’t know how I ended up on the kitchen floor crying because you weren’t there to pass me two eggs while I was trying to make brownies. I don’t want to hear your laugh anymore. I don’t know why you won’t leave me alone, and I want you to come out so I can call you and tell you how I much I hate you and how much I don’t want you to ever leave me again. I’m writing you this because I miss you.

I miss the way your hands brought me soup when I was sick and I miss the way your eyes look when you’re drunk. I miss your voice. I miss the way you always look to your left when you’re about to come. I miss the ways in which you were never perfect, but I loved you anyway. I’m writing you this because I want to know if there is anything I can do for you to make you more comfortable while you’re in me.

Is my spirit too bright for you? Would you like me to dim the light a little? Is my heart making it too cold or is that the temperature you’re used to? I don’t know how long you plan to stay in there, and I don’t want you to tell me because I still like surprises. I don’t know how clearly you can hear my thoughts, but I want you to know that I love you. I am crazy, I am angry, I am frustrated, I am confused, and I am still yours. No matter how many of your pictures I delete, no matter how intently I try to avoid your aunt at the grocery store, if you called me high and needing to talk, I would answer. And I would talk back. And I would even come see you if it would make you smile. I hope my rib cage is comfortable. I hope my heart tastes good. I hope you find your way up to my eye sockets some days so you can still see me naked like you like to, and even though I know I am the best place for you, I hope you come out soon. I just want to kiss you again.