But in the end, it doesn't even matter. Of course it won't. Because I'll either recover and then die; or I'll die while attempting to recover. Memories consume, like opening the wounds..you all assume, I'm safe here in my room. A lot of thoughts are going through my head. Actually, I went and read some of my old blog posts, and I'm appalled with how I let people talk to me. As if I'm some kind of damn door mat. I let people abuse me too, years ago. So, since I let them, and stuff like that it's my fault. It's all my fault.
My fault. Tell me, why don't I see your face? You have the balls to show up in my dreams and you have the balls to give me flashbacks and leave me out of it for hours. I know who you are, but I never see your face in any of that. Just your body. And how disgusting it was. And how much of a useless slut that I am. I have chills going down my spine. I wish he could have just left me alone. But, hey, maybe I deserved it. The next word carved into my body is going to be, "slut". Read more »