Today has been a day of endings, of finalities, and as I sit in contemplation of the events that have taken place, I actually smile. Usually I would feel sadness at the departure of that which I hold dear, yet right now, I feel release of negative energies, almost a cleansing of that which pulls me down. No longer to question myself, or what I believe in, or allow myself to be swayed into accepting another's twisted view on who I am. I am me, with all of my outbursts, my pains, my loving moments that aren't recognized, but criticized, and I feel a small angst of pity that one can feel so despondant.
The Abuser: He will beat you, then hold you, nursing the bruises, carressing the sore spots, telling you he is sorry, he loves you, he just needed you to "understand" him and you wouldn't, and now that he has pulled you back in with his kisses, and made sweet love to you, he says "Now, baby, can you make me some dinner? I'm hungry". Thus only holding you, only loving you, only giving you his kindness when he needs you.
2003-04-23 - 6:05 p.m.
i listen often, even when i am speaking, and recall quite clearly words, stories and tales to be told. the contradictions that i continuously view, dilutes my respect of you. it makes me wonder what lies are told of me, but yet again, what does it matter? That is just my "pride" actually caring. i can pinpoint the reasons why i remain alone, not allowing that capture of me. i see the reasons that i am like i am, everytime that i look at you. i think of an old friend, how parallel the two of you, and i wonder if with intelligence comes that sociopathic art of the verbal con. that expertise of twisting to the point that i will actually start to believe that i didn't see what i saw, or hear what i heard, or maybe... it's really... that i just don't want to believe it. i don't want to accept that you are just as convincing in the representation of realness. in this introspection, i wonder, why i cannot seperate my self from this neediness, why i even remain when there is nothing to feed from, as if i drink from a water hole that was long ago scorched dry from the burning of the sun... as if i sit atop a yoyo that is dangling from a faucet which drips water, the string pulling me up, my tongue held out as i strain to get more than just that soft drip that only teases my thirst, and down again to wait for the next rise. tonight, i laugh at myself, not because i am deserving of my own mockery, but because only laughter can represent the idiocy of what you believe me not to see.
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