He Touched Me Again

He touched me again. I don't mean physically, I just mean that, once again, he put his proverbial finger into my symbolic chest and reminded me that he still has control.

It's been six months, three weeks, and two days since I left, and yes, I am counting. But even after six months, three weeks, and two days, he's able to send my tummy into jelly. He's able to make my hands shake. He's able to get me to gobble down chocolate, and tuck my head in between my shoulders to try to hide.

Just because I left doesn't mean it's over.


Monday, May 13, 2013

A Time To Cry

I cried for over four hours straight yesterday.


I left work, because I couldn't make it stop.


It was the first time I went home because I was upset, and not away. And I stayed home, even though my poor boyfriend had things he wanted to do, I stayed home and asked him to stay home, and he was super-supportive about the whole thing.


There wasn't any one thing that set it off, really. I went to the gym, had a fantastic workout. I felt great. People were being mean to me the day before, I heard, so I wrote a little note to the people.


And then I started to wonder why people want to hurt me. It seems a lot of people go out of their way to hurt me, and I wonder why.


And then the tears started, and I couldn't stop it. I tried to stop it for an hour, I think. I finally gave up.


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