Words are a powerful weapon…

I answered my phone, not looking at the caller ID, thinking it was someone else.

“You’ve turned into a fucking piece of garbage.”

Everything came back.

My decade of darkness returned, once again…with a vengence.

I don’t understand why people strike out at other people when they feel like shit about themselves.

I guess some people have to make themselves feel better some how. Why not beat someone else down?

I’ve never understood this concept.

I’ve tried to explain Vance here but there is no one but me that really knows the nightmare he is.

And the emotional wreck he has made me.

I can hardly look in the mirror anymore because he told me for years how disgusting I looked.

I wonder, to this day, why I stayed with him for so long. I still don’t have an answer.

The closest I can come is that he beat me down so badly that I felt I would never find anyone else that could stand to look at my face. Not even me.

Do I think I’m pretty? I think I’m different.

When I was 16 I use to hang out at this bar and one of the bartenders told me…

“One day you’ll be striking.”


striking
Function:
adjective
: attracting attention or notice through unusual or conspicuous qualities.

That meant I wasn’t pretty. That meant I was different.

Ray was a wise bartender.

Even though I didn’t really understand…I know now.

I feel as if I’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for Joe.

I promised myself, after he killed himself, that I would never take the easy way out.

It’s hard sometimes…to keep that promise.

I wish I was like everyone else…but I’m not.

I take on other peoples agony and pain.

I guess that’s why I stayed with Vance for so long. I wanted to ease his pain.

But some people can’t see past the indigence of life.

I can…and he hates me for it.