The Art of Constant Cleansing

My "mother" died in November and while it was upsetting I don't think I had any idea that it messed me up as much as it did. I pushed past it. Squashed it down and by January I was sick. Again. I spent most of it in bed with a fever (I still have a fever) because that's what my body does.
I couldn't pray, or sit still, or even mediated. I could find that poise.
The spirit of my "mother" passed over but her ghost, the trauma loomed large and I couldn't look into the mirror, look inside myself without her words bubbling in my head. I am tired of carrying around this anger and bitterness that was never my own.

"You can't speak to a man like that, they will hit you."
"Never have children they ruin your life."
"Don't trust anyone."
"Men are useless"
"Men are pathetic."
"You'll need a rich husband because you can't do anything right."
"You can always become a stripper, it's not like they look at your face."  
"I believe you believe that happened."
"You are a vile, spiteful thing."
"Why can't you just pretend everything is fine like everyone else?"
"Lie. Cheat. Break the rules. Everyone else does."
"There is no such thing as kindness. Everyone wants something."
"Nobody really loves each other. One person is always the garden and the other the gardener."
"You're weak."
"You are naive and ridiculous."
"You've gained weight. It doesn't even make you look jolly."
"You're looking too thin. Don't lose any more weight you'd look bloody awful."
"Fat people are disgusting."
"Why can't you just be like..."
"Your such a drama Queen."
"You don't know the meaning of hard work."
"You have no work ethic."
"I only said what everyone else was thinking."

You died and kindness and love survived. I am tired of carrying around your pain and trauma. I am tired of doubting myself all over again. I am not frightened of you any more. I was shocked when you died, we always joked a wooden stake and decapitation would be the only way. I can survive anything. I survived you.