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I have this familiar, twisting feeling in my stomach that used to plague me every day when I was younger. A long time ago, my conscience was so huge and heavy that it would drip into my belly cavities and create an uncomfortable knot that felt similar to several hungry snakes. I was burdened with every mistake I made, every misfraction, and I cried because I wasn't perfect. I cried because every small imperfection that plagued me stayed, slowly gnawing at me until I confessed my petty sin to someone who would tell me that it was okay. As I grew older, what I called the Knot in my stomach slowly eroded away and disappeared, smothered beneath rebellion.

One of the things I despise about being a female is the jealousy that so often bothers me. It clings to me, it's like a purple monster that won't go away and won't stop whispering in my ear the constant reminders of things I want to, need to, forget. These things will destroy me. I linger on them, I pick them apart to the bone, devouring the meat and throwing it up to devour again. I continue the cycle, which morphs into self-hatred because that's only way I am capable of dealing with things. The jealousy makes a knot in my belly, it's so similar to the Knot that had existed when I was younger. The snakes spit and hiss hateful things that scrape away at my flakes of confidence. Bitterness follows close behind, a faithful companion, repulsive to me and that much more difficult to deal with considering my everlasting attempts at respect and forgiveness. This plethora of complications causes the days to prove more difficult. The most I can do is try.