Existing With Inner Turmoil

What a mundane existence. I couldn't get any smaller if I crawled inside of
myself. Oh, how I wish I could. That I could just exist inside my interior, and
never interact with the outside world. What's the term for an introverted
introvert?

The essence of me is double-sided. A confused being. Polar opposites trying to
co-exist. Who am I? seem to forget. Ah, remember. I am what they want.
What they need. I am what they have come to expect. The decaying flesh of the
one left forgotten. Neglected

Do you know me? I seem to remember your demands and your unattractive
neediness. The grip of your presence holding, squeezing so tightly. Your
existence is like a pair of vise grips attached to my heart. Crushing the lie from
me. Why do I need you? A bad case of fatal attraction. Walking on eggshells
down memory lane. The torturous feelings of the inevitable running rampant.
AN unwanted yet welcomed companion for my abysmal misery. The
abrasiveness rubs my emotions raw leaving me numb and in a state of
desolation.

Who am I? Can you see? A distorted whirlwind of paramount disappointments
and chaotic calamities. This was me. Before you. During you... because of you.
You loved me because I was tailor made for your woe is me existence. How
may I serve you? And can I make things better for you?

No. I cannot. I cannot be the salve to your wounds. No, let me amend that I will
not be your muse. I must pick up these pieces, and throw them away. Because I
will be all that I never thought I could be. In spite of the destructive gene that
led me to such a desolate place. In spite of you, and maybe even because of
you.

I will learn to be free. I will learn to simply just be me.