In His Likeness w/ AntTBri

I see the woman disguising the little girl who was disappointed, devastated, dampened, and daunted by the choices, actions, and words of another. The little girl given no explanation for the inappropriate actions of adults in her life when she was a child. I see the effects from that moment in this moment and desire to help her to heal the inner child; is it possible to assist development from this advantage point? I feel the throbbing of her pulsating heart as she scrambles for a reason, a justification, and explanation of why or why not her. I hear the consolation of her child imprinted rationale and reasoning despite the fact that she is now an adult.

The little girl in her is still asking questions of her anger, agony, and anguish. Why didn’t you love me? Why did you hurt me? Why did you leave me ? Why didn’t you choose me? I needed you. I depended on you. I love you, says the little girl, whose voice has matured and sounds like the nagging of the woman I now see standing, no sitting, she is slouching in front of me disgruntled, defensive and deflated by her perception of herself and life. She can not hear reason nor see the opportunity of life and love. She is emotionally challenged yet physically confrontational of the precepts, principles, and practices of her said faith and future.

Why are you looking at me like that? What are you seeing? I don’t understand. I’m trying to comprehend it but I keep getting blocked, no caught in the filter of my pain and passion. The immaturity of my thought process, the limitations of my vocabulary, and my present response to the possibility of pain betray the confidence of my age. I am a wounded little girl, masquerading weary woman yet crying, yet cowering, yet contriving a plan of action to defend my right to have the love and life I envision purposed and promised to me. I want you to like me, to need me, to qualify no quantify my purpose of being. That’s why I crave your attention, why I insist on being the center of attention. I need life to revolve around me. Prove to me that I am worth it; that they were wrong to not chose me, to prefer me. Juvenile as it may sound, the clamor of this modern-day woman is yet inquiring: I’m lovable, right? Am I beautiful, brilliant, and blessed? What did you say, I didn’t, I can not hear you? Why won’t you talk to me why can’t you hear me; I’m speaking plain English but you’re standing there looking at me as if I’m speaking Gibberish. Don’t look at me or treat me like a child I’m grown trust and believe I paid the price of maturity. Really I am grown, look at my id, the stuff I have, the roles I play, a child couldn’t accomplish this now could they?

It’s not my fault she screams as she pouts, hurl accusations, and presents the defense her insecurities confirm. You don’t like me, you never have, never will…you think, no I think you are better, more deserving than me. You think you’re smarter, more proficient, and worthy than me, don’t you? I know you do you can’t convince me otherwise. You tolerate my existence and try to mimic a celebratory support of my person. You can’t and you haven’t duped me I know what and how you really feel and think about me. Some friend, some companion, some confidant I must be. You’re just bidding your time until you’ve had enough or decide you too will leave me. I won’t let you love me, matter fact I will push you away before you get a chance to leave me stranded, stunted, and stagnated in my invisible tears and internal fears. Try as hard as you can but you’ll never dissolve the callousness of my heart. I will remain confrontational, cantankerous, and complicated. You will never figure me out, get close or fully grasp my complexities. I will disarm you by appeals that I tried my best to give you and be there for you in ways I fail to afford to myself. I will distract you by owning segments of my imperfections while reminding you of your own disqualifications. I will even the playing field by what ever means necessary then turn my internal venom on you.

I know it is past time that I grow up, move on, and stop throwing a tantrum. I don’t even know how to fathom that acquisition. How do I get there? What steps do I need to take? What’s beyond this abyss of darkness that has plagued my soul, hollowed my spirit? How do you grow up out of, grow into a new reality? When you’ve been hiding in the comfort of the closet of isolation, behind the constellation door of separation, up under the table of responsibility. When you’ve lived your life blaming him or her for your inactivity, inability, and insistence on staying in the moment of the in fracture; it is their fault you never grew up, that you failed to fully develop despite the gift of time. Even though you made the choice that they, their actions would matter more than your optimism, opportunity, and occasion of growth. You decided you needed their affirmation, acceptance, and apology before you could, before you would, before you should move on or move beyond it . Can I tell you the ache you’re nursing, the anguish you nourish, and the agony you nurture is a self destructive vice that is holding you hostage to the little girl of your past. You are experiencing a time warp that is hampering your progression to juvenile inclinations, implications, and indecisiveness. As a result of time you are quick sand held in your child like reasoning, rationale, and responses. Inappropriately adorned in age appropriate attire too fast for your maturation.