Maybe not so silent here...heh.

Machete...I've been having night mares about that.

I've been cleaning up the front yard and I still can't find it because I buried it when he went to work.

God the toucher he put me though.

As he tapped his middle finger to the blade for hours...fling, fling, fling, fling......

He wouldn't let me move. No access to 911.

He told me he would chop my head off if I moved for the phone.

That was a long night.

"A different kind of special"

That's what my grandmother use to call me. I kind of like it.

She knew all along that I was different and I'm starting to accept that fact.

Hey, we are all different in our own ways it's the matter of people actually standing there with you.

Remains to be seen, I guess.

I'm clawing my way up out of the fucking grave. I'm working really fucking hard here people.

I am trying. I can't cry...I can't scream because both are embarrassing.

So I stand silent.

I was told today that "I've lost my marbles."

Guess what? I'm starting to find them.

It's a long road.

I don't under stand when some one is beating me for trying to pick up the fucking marbles.

By the way...I'm way past marbles.

I speak and no one listens...

And that's cool but some times people speak and say nothing.

Like my roommate calling me a Dumb ass...again.

I'm not perfect, nor do I claim to be...but I'm not a dumb ass.

Don't call me names that you want to call your self.

It pisses me the fuck off.

He knows the road I've been down and that makes me easy prey.

When a person tells there life story, it does make you a target.

I fucking hate that.

I'm being honest...guess I shouldn't be that any more.

I found this weird thing...

In the thrift store a couple of weeks ago.

It was a soup can that some one took a blow torch to. The thing that struck me was how well they did the dragon flies...many on a small can.

It's beautiful and it cost me all of 50 cents.

The picture above is what I saw on the inside. My Mac helped me.

People underestimate the art in all of us.

I think that people need to wake the fuck up.

I colored my hair the other night...

It's fabulous! Ruby Red.

But I missed some thing, I got it on my neck. It happened to look like finger prints.

The chocking was a bad episode. I almost died. I carried the bruses for some time.

It sucks ass to wear a turtle neck sweater in 105 degree weather to hide what some one has done to you because if you don't...the beating ensues.

He made sure no one saw it. He never hit me in the face, only the head butt. That one hurt but I had bangs. It hid it well.

I want to forget but all the memories are coming back.

I am good at blocking shit out. That filter is now gone.

The memories are coming back. I want to stop them. I can't.

I guess I need to remember but I don't want to remember some one almost killing me...

Over and over and over again.

Beauty and the beast...

Was I the Beast? I often wonder.

And then I think again.

He wanted me to be...the beast. He painted a perfect picture of me with out picking up a paint brush.

NOW I have the paint brush, as I always have.

I'm not the beast. He is.

Why me?

Why did he pick me?

Weakness maybe. I'm just to fucking nice some times.

Not so much any more.

I got in to a fight at the ATM on Sunday. She honked at me twice. Sister, really?

I had to get out of the car. By the way the next drive through ATM was open.

"Are you serious?"

She said "You are taking too much time."

"Uh...I'm signing my check."

She said "You should have done that at home."

She opened the car door and put one foot on the ground.

I said..."Bring it on."

She put that fucking foot back in the car and rolled to the next ATM.

I never get mad but she pissed me the fuck off.

I've got balls now. Vance did teach me some thing.

I watched "Enraged" on Discovery Health Channel...

It was beautiful...to me. It answered so many questions that I had for years. It was kind of a release. I knew there was some thing wrong with him I just didn't know why he blamed it all on me. I know now.

It would have been nice though...if one of my friends would have let me explain.

The Vance story is so old that people don't want to listen any more. Hell, they have a lot of problems that are old as well...I still listen.

I'm just grateful that I found the answer.

He called me a Vance.

Does any one understand domestic violence? no...not unless you had the pleasure to live there.

It doesn't go away. ever. It fucking haunts me. He haunts me. He is on every street corner.

People don't get it nor do they want to listen.

Do you think I'm going to be Fucking normal tomorrow?

No.

I'll never be normal again.

Some one trying to chock you to death...kind of changes your life.

Maybe I am him...but I never choked any body.

I don't even know the concept.

Robert also called me retarded. I accept the fact that I'm slow but I don't think I deserved retarded.

That's when I became a BITCH and I nailed him to the cross.

Don't fuck with me.

I'd take a bullet for him but don't call me names.

Walk down my road. Words are very powerful.

Chose them wisely.

Bob died.

I went to the funeral today.

He was fabulous...I always adored him.

Me in true form made a bunch of crappy jokes...any thing to take away the pain.

Yes, it got worse. My roommate called me as I was driving through Jack n the Box buying him fries.

I hung up on him because it was the wise decision. I have no more fight left in me. So I hung up on him.

Well...he texted me and told me that was "rude"

What part of FUNERAL did he miss?