I’m not a size queen. :)
I had that dream again. You were talking to me on the side of the road. You held out your hand and I tried to hold it but my hand went right through yours.
Don’t believe that dreams can’t hurt you. Mine do.
People think I’m crazy. But I have to let them feel like they’re right. Defending myself would be politically incorrect.
Sometimes I can hear someone call my name. It sounds like a man but I’m not sure but he seems unhappy. I wonder what he’s sad about? Maybe next time I’ll reach through the mirror and ask him.
The sad thing is that even after being abused and raped. I wanted to know if he still loved me. If he still wore the necklace I gave him for his birthday. I never thought about getting revenge or hurting him. I just want to know if he remembers who I am.
In bed staring at the black. It’s in front of me. Behind me and on my left and on my right; darkness, I can hear my own heartbeat. Focusing on the sound of the beating, it becomes louder and louder and pretty soon there’s an all to familiar blackness. Only this time, I didn’t see it coming, I didn’t want to-I say I didn’t want to.
The words he said that night…those words…he said. They are sewn onto my heart forcing me to remember the wound that still bleeds. The daily ritual, his voice is in the back of my mind. “I want you to die.” Are the words he said…”I want you to die.”
I can keep telling myself that he was drunk or he was high when he said it. It makes it seem better.