The next morning

I lost an entire journal entry because of you. You wouldn’t stop obnoxiously grabbing at my phone, my hands. It was long too. I’m pissed. 

I talked about your other nightly rituals of incoherently mumbling for hours. Continually calling me a whore. Then proceeding to randomly poke, prod, and grab at my private parts. I hate it so much. I try to stop you, but you just laugh and continue. 

You then begin hurting me physically. You do it under the guise of “just playing”. You aren’t playing. You love to hurt me. You fucking love it. There is nothing playful about the way you hurt me. I try to ignore you so you will get bored and quit, but the pain is too much to ignore. I try to simply block you from hurting me, but you think it’s funny and only try harder or hit new spots. The bruises are everywhere and are becoming a regular part of me. You think it’s a joke. I think you are sadistic. When I’m already suffering from a nerve problem,  you find it funny to hit me right where it hurts. Awesome. Thanks. 

When I finally “fight” back, you become enraged. How dare I grab your hands to fend you off. How dare I hit you back. Then you get right back to putting me in the little box where keep me. You make sure to tell me how fat, disgusting, ugly, smelly, stupid I am. You make sure to bring up my past abuser and throw him in my face, you make sure to ridicule my family, you threaten to punch me if you so much as feel the heat from my body near you.

I don’t want to be near you. 

Gone are the days that I beg you to touch me. The days where I pull your arm over me to sleep. Where you roll your eyes or screw up your face because I kiss you. Im done. My new mantra that I repeat over and over is “if he wanted to, he would.” 

All I ever long for is something real. Tender moments that are not sexual or drunken. Stroke my face/hair, rub my back, hold me, say sweet things. I’ll never get that. Not from you. 

I don’t get much anything positive from you anymore. You’re just here, spewing hate and negativity. You’ve broken me. 

You will rant the mist hateful/hurtful things at me for hours and then try to pretend the next day that it never happened ir simply justify it by saying “I’m an asshole. ” I’m just supposed to forget it and move on. If I dont, you get mad and start it all over again. You never apologize and you never say anything that contradicts the hate filled words. 

There is a woman you talk to online… I have seen things you tell her about me. How boring I am in bed, how clingy I am, how you don’t really love me, you’re leaving me, etc. 

I’ve also seen you treat her like garbage as well. Spewing your hate onto a virtual stranger that you call a friend. The difference?  You apologize profusely to her practically begging for forgiveness. You’ve known her 4 months. 

15 years and I’m not worthy of an apology. 

I’m not sure I love you. I care for you deeply, but love? I don’t think it is. I am in love with the idea of you, what you once were. You’ve been gone for a long time. Over 10 years. You’re here, sure. Existing. Maybe this was the real you all along and you won me over with a con game. I don’t know. You’ve hated me for a long time.

I’ve only been with 2 men. Both abusive in different ways. I don’t even know anything different. I don’t believe goodness exists. I’ve never seen firsthand a real and true happy relationship. My dad was abusive, his dad was, my mom is, her mom was, her sister was, my brother is, cousins are all fucked up, on and on. 

I’m the perfect victim.


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