I just inadvertantly deleted a rather large entry, and honestly, I just don’t have time to recreate the damn thing. Haha…

But, I’ll scratch out a few thoughts to actually post, before I have to book it to outpatient (in a few minutes).

The one I was writing about when the error occurred – that was a conversation I had last night with a good friend.  The friend said that he didn’t think abusive people were fundamentally bad – just sick.  I told him he was wrong.  Evil does exist.  I’ve seen it.  Up close.  He said he believed me.

If you follow my blogs you know the example that jumped to my mind (and my friend’s, such that he didn’t argue.)  The whole "where’s your God, now, bitch? scenario didn’t gut my faith in God – just in the fundamental goodness of people.  I never knew that ordinary-seeming people who could seem sensitive, and artistic – people who you could laugh with, over coffee…  could do such awful fucking things.  I’d liked that psycho.  I’d kissed him, of my own f@cking free will.  But, that day, if I could have burned that place down, somehow, I would’ve thought it was worth dying to take him with me.  That’s how much f@cking hate he made me feel.  (To be honest, I thought I was dead, no matter what – I thought I was bleeding to death, for one.  And, I sort of was…  and, I NEVER thought he’d le me leave.)  When I walked out, and he said he was lettingme leave, I wasn’t remotely grateful – I almost hated him for letting me live.  I knew he wanted me to suffer, and to be afraid.  I hadn’t screamed or cried.  He hadn’t broken me, yet.

He was still trying.

He let me go so he could wreck my psyche every minute of every day, until he decided to get his hands on me, again.

Well, that’s not how it played out.

But, he still tortures me.  Part of me is still in that room.  And, his voice still follows me.  I’m 28, and afraid of the dark.  

Really have to run, now.