You got me you know. And well.
At first, I saw your efforts as just a lark; chalked you up to a fool with nothing better to do. I got angry, and then brushed you off, a twisted, sorry nobody with nothing better to do—a nameless face behind an unknown and distant screen.
But oh, how mistaken…how woefully misguided I was.
Because your attacks got worse. Eight progressively more scurrilous comments that could have been the voice in my head itself. The aplomb with which you’ve dispatched your ill-will has a horrid grace unmatched. Your voice, on screen, rings like a bell in my head, clear and low, a thrumming kettledrum echo of everything I try not to admit to myself.
How pure and distinct your understanding of my mental state and peculiarities.
Brava, stranger, and well done. Expertly you’ve flayed me, and here I sit, a pulpy mass. Was it tears you were after? Because you earned them, each runnel on my cheek an arrow to the mark. A battered spirit? Because you found one, only steps away before your arrival. You have cut to the core of the things I keep inside, and done the work I thought only myself–my innerself–capable of. Your words have found their way from my inbox to my heart and hammered down the last of what little fortitude I had.
And so I ask, humbly, quietly, and nigh on meekly:
As brash as my words and the jut of my chin may seem, I am not that; am, in fact, much less. I am held together with glue and string, a heavy rain away from washing to nothing, dissolving into a puddle of paste and lint. You needn’t have written, for I do a well-enough job of cutting myself down without your added efforts. Any unease you wished me, I can assure you was there before you came and will remain long after you’ve tired of your campaign.
There is nothing you accuse me of that my conscience doesn’t remind me of daily. No weakness you can point out that I haven’t already stared in the face and come to know intimately. You may come in close, but I am still my own worst enemy, and daily fight the battle you seem to have taken as your own.
You got me, and well, and I’m asking for a reprieve.