Type me through the words I write, an excerpt from my story

Hi. I've noticed a few times that during typing, some people pay attention to writing style, to how a person writes, what they focus on, what details they notice. And I thought, yes, that's a whole untapped field of possibilities. It really can be useful in seeing how a person thinks and what they're passionate about, outside the framework of questionnaires or typing. And I happen to be really into writing. Even though I feel shy about it, I decided to try sharing an excerpt from my work, both in hope and out of curiosity. I'm really embarrassed, but here it is. I already have a version of my type that I really want to believe in and hope turns out to be true. But still, the idea of trying this came up anyway. This is a translation of my text, because the original is not in English, but I tried to convey everything exactly as I intended in my own text in my language.

"Now, looking at my helpless state, I suppress the urge to smash the unfortunate mirror, to savor the sound of shattered glass on the floor, comparing it to my own soul, broken into pieces. I used to want to be strong for myself, now I want to be strong for you, because you despise weakness. Day after day, walking with me hand in hand through the corridors, you cast a disgusted glance at all those filthy, wretched people you deemed weak, wanting to drown them in pools of blood, listening to their choking gasps and pleas for mercy warm your rotten little soul. I only smirked, gripping your palm tighter, because we are alike.

My entire life is woven from sharp threads, binding my body so tightly that escape seems impossible, like I've fallen into a web. Yours is saturated with blood in which everyone around you drowns, while you sit proudly upon an invisible throne, watching their suffering. Only I had no desire to break other people's bones, savoring the crunch, to plunge headfirst into rivers of crimson pouring from their mutilated bodies while you lived for it.

You poisoned me with every touch of your lips against mine, offering salvation I so desperately needed. I clung to you as the only bright thing I had in my life, but you were darkness, all-consuming and grim, knowing no mercy. You held me tightly, deceptively gently stroking my back, whispering in my ear:

- You are the most precious thing I've ever held in my hands.

Was it just another lie? Probably yes, I knew it, but I only pressed closer to you, letting you do whatever your sick mind desired. In that orphanage, they pointed fingers at me, hurling poisonous insults and threats, and you were ready to break every bastard's fingers and tear out their tongues. Your promises, your warm words thrown my way with a cloyingly sincere smile – they made me move forward, live, not look back at a past wrapped in shadows. It was as if you took my hand and led me through a dense forest of resentment and fear, shielding me like a shield, and I walked behind, gazing at your strong figure, hoping one day to see your admiring gaze and hear you say you were proud of me.

You taught me to look down on everyone, smirking at their worthlessness. You showed me a side of myself I never believed existed, shrinking further inside.

- You need to rise higher, stepping over all their heads. I'll help, just trust me.

And I trusted, always and unconditionally. Seeing something in me you found in no one else, you created me, like an artist creates a masterpiece. Your kisses, demanding, insistent, with a taste of cherry, expensive liquor, and something forbidden that completely blows my mind. I wake up in the morning with thoughts of you, my eyes searching for your dark head, ignoring the others you call a herd. I reach for you like a lonely flower reaching for the sun's rays, terrified of losing them one day, of seeing a storm instead of the sun in the sky.

You kill me, tearing me apart from the inside, and then sewing me back together. One moment you kiss me passionately, the next you push me away, as if I were one of those you despise so fiercely. A gaze full of warmth shifts into a contemptuous smirk, making my heart do an unpleasant flip in my chest. Again and again you shatter me, ruthlessly trampling my body, only to heal me later with your embrace. You're afraid of me, because I make you weak, vulnerable.

Your mind lives with the desire to turn me into a dependent, cornered victim caught by a predator. You want to change my very essence, flooding my entire being with your poison, but I desperately resist, hold on, and then examine my hands under the lamp, now covered by my long sleeves. The marks from the sharp blade look like a sign that I'm breaking. In the evenings, inflicting those hated cuts, I vent all my anger, resentment, and inability to let you go, because I've grown attached. Because I love you, and I'm burning for your pleasure. Even knowing there's blood on your hands, keeping in my memory the image of you standing over some poor soul's body, your eyes gleaming with an unhealthy light, I still can never leave you.

Standing on the edge of a nonexistent cliff, toward which I've walked for so long, I feel my heart clench and my legs go numb. I ask myself why did you become the relentless hurricane that burst into my life without knocking? Something in my chest presses painfully, breaking ribs, squeezing my lungs. I choke, desperately gripping the edge of the table, knowing this is the end. You achieved what you craved all this time. Creating the perfect doll, you gradually erased the unwanted details, casting them aside, and I handed you the ropes myself, to be bound by them later.

Running my hands through my short dark hair, I sink to the floor. After a few agonizing minutes, there's a knock at the door. Rising from my knees, hastily wiping the moisture from my face, I open the door. On the threshold, smirking, you stand".