I wish you’d hit me, right in the eye preferably, so that I know that the pain is real, the abuse is real that leaves mark on my skin whereas nothing shows when you stab me with your words. So instead I mark myself, as a reminder that the pain I feel in my mind is as real as marks on my hand.
I wish you’d hit me as hurtful as the words you shout at my face, as hurtful as I want to hurt you. I wish the marks would show, and the cuts and bruises would welt as terrible as you made me feel every time you got drunk and told me things I didn’t want to hear, asked me things that filled me with anxiety. But people would tell me how nice and charming you are, and I have to force a smile. The hatred and pain inside me are instead trapped in my ribcage suffocating me, but I look fine so it doesn’t matter.
I feel like since everyone thinks it's Neal. It's definitely not Neal. I feel it's going to be someone we least expect.