Judge of Character

I just wanted to fucking scream.
It seemed like no matter where I went, he was there, hovering over top of me like some kind of crazed psycho in search of his panel van. And, had it not been for the ring on my finger, I would have run to the cops claiming that there was some weirdo stalking me.

I'm such an excellent judge of character.

I struggled deep to remember a time when he didn't repulse me. When the sound of his voice, the smell of his breath, the touch of his hand on my arm didn't send me into convulsive fits and force bits of vomit into my throat. I could remember no such time.

Instead, what I remembered were all the times he did things that indicated he was crazy, yet my teenage brain somehow managed to translate them as being "sweet".

Excellent judge of character...
Yeah, that's me.

What a joke.

Living the Lie

When you tell a lie for long enough, it starts to breathe a whole life of its own. It takes on a form which mimics the real world so closely that you forget that it’s completely artificial.

“You’ve got to believe that I’m trying.”

I don’t believe anything from anyone, mostly because I can’t trust myself to separate the truth from the fiction that seems to surround my entire existence. It’s easier – safer – to just not believe a single word that anyone says.

Even from myself.

When you tell a lie for long enough, it starts to breathe a whole life of its own…

…and then it smothers you while you’re sleeping.

Life Sucker

I got up this morning and looked at the time on the clock.

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me."

"Come on - we've got to go - NOW!"

His demanding voice pierced through what was left of my sleepy haze and I found myself remembering again all of the reasons that I hated my life...remembering all of the reasons that I hated him.

As I lifted my head from the pillow and forced myself into an upright position I found my head spinning with a 100 different things that I could say...

"Fuck You."

"Go to Hell."

"Die."

But when my mouth finally opened, the only thing that came out was a sleepy "I'm coming..."

The very words leaving my lips made me feel dirty, as if I had somehow been transformed into some kind of submissive, pathetic, 1950's style woman.

"Should I suck your dick with that?"

Every minute that goes by I find myself hating him more. Hating him for the life he stole from me. Hating him for not letting me go. Hating him for trapping me in a situation that I can't escape from. Hating him mostly because the only alternative is to hate myself for allowing it all to happen.

"I mean it, we have to go - NOW!"

"Shut the fuck up you life sucking piece of shit!"

"Yes honey, I'm coming."