A reply to a comment turned into a blog...

It was pussy boy next door to you...no stiches now?

And it's not his fault..It just hit me wrong...that's all.

What I find hard, is no one understands...and they can't.

It was a choice between hitting him or walking out for a smoke. Obviously, I chose the latter.

It's not the word, it's the amount of times it has been used over years...pinpointed at me. 10 times a day, for well...lets see...7 years. Yeah...I don't want to hear "whore" again because I never was. He was.

As for the old "sticks and stones" I'd rather be beaten because the bruises heal but the words never go away. I've been through both...words are the more powerful weapon.

I have worn turtle necks in the summer here because I had perfect imprints of his fingers on my neck. His explaintion of it was "You are just so fat and digusting and I WANT YOU TO DIE."

What hurt more...take a guess....punch me in the face.

It's all a fucking joke. I loved the son of a bitch...

Do I still worry about him...yes.

The thing that people don't know is we were there for each other when no one else was.

no. one. understands.

What people in Neverland always say..."Just leave him."

You are brilliant!!! Why didn't I think of that sooner before I was mentally fucked over.

The truth of the matter is...I'm getting better...because if I don't...I'll die.

Am I being a drama queen? Maybe...doubtful though.

Don't judge what you haven't lived through.

No one was standing next to me when it all happened. Not one fucking person.

My problem is, I was there for them.