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There is a part of me that I call the Punisher. I don't know how he got there, but he's there, always lurking and waiting to pounce. He's been a part of me for as long as I can remember, and he is the last obstacle between me and complete mental health.
My last psychologist suggested that the Punisher is a learned response picked up when I was very young in response to my surroundings. Somebody taught me to punish myself, either directly or through my observations. We're talking mom and dad stuff here. But I've come to the conclusion that it doesn't matter much where the Punisher came from- I can't remember it anyway. And I get along just fine with mom and dad now days.
The Punisher does as his name implies. He makes me feel bad about myself. For every mistake and embarrassing moment there he is burning my psyche with a lit cigarette and mocking my expression of pain.
Things have gotten better. When I was not being treated for my illness the Punisher ruled me. It seemed like he would not be satisfied until I killed myself, despite it meaning the end of him, too. He damn near succeeded. Now days I'm in control most of the time instead of him. But he still has enough of a hold on me to cause me discomfort here and there.
But lately a different part of me has made an appearance. I call her the Forgiver. She tells me it's alright, that the past is gone now, and that I'm not the same person I used to be; that there's nothing I can do about it now but let it go. She tells me to let go of the pain. She has started to get there in response to my walks down memory lane before the Punisher does. It doesn't happen very often yet, but maybe she will become stronger the more I listen to her.
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