Hazel Eyes Are Killers

My eyes glare daggers at the enemy. In this moment, I can’t help but to stare into the shared eye color between us. Hazel eyes that my partner has described as a trail down a cold set of woods that leads her to a safely guarded cabin where she can rest in squishy armchairs and drink warm hot coco by a fire. The same hazel is reflected from me onto her and then back to me. An endless loop, like mirrors in a fun house. She glares back.

My hand rises and hangs softly in the air as my mind replays everything this enemy has done to me. She’s created distance from passion, love, happiness, family, friends, and partners. She reminds me of everything I’m not. She reminds me of everything I couldn’t do. Everyone I couldn’t keep. My flaws consume me when I stare into those hazel eyes. Her hand rises and presses back against mine.

I hate her because I know her inside and out. I hate her because I’m insecure. I hate her for all of the past she’s destroyed. I hate her for all of the mental torment she puts herself through. I hate her because she can’t control herself. I hate her because she’s incapable of achieving her standards. I hate her because her standards are too high. I hate her because she does everything she hates just to keep people around her. I hate her because she can’t make anyone stay. I hate her because everyone else’s opinion means the world to her. I hate her because she lets people use her. I hate her because she’s too dumb. She’s too fat. She’s too sensitive. She’s too naïve. She’s too desperate. She’s too cowardly. She’s too easy to take control of. She’s worthless. She’s never enough. She’s a burden. She’s lifeless. She’s reckless. She can’t take compliments. I hate her because she can’t provide for those she cares for. I hate her because the only emotion she feels is depression. I hate her because she shuts down and becomes unresponsive. I hate her because she can’t move beyond her problems. I hate her because she keeps herself awake at night crying over regrets.

I bow my head but no tears come because I have too much to do when I leave this room. I rather not make anyone’s life more unbearable with pretending they’re obligated to comfort me. I used to cry about her, but now I’m only resigned. Now I’ve learned to smile again and play along as if she’s not a part of my life. Some days it’s as simple as turning my back on the mirror until she disappears. Today won’t be one of those days but I leave my room anyway.

I hate her because I am her.