My world is mine.

Confrontations are ugly.



Do you know what it’s like not to feel anything? I look into a mirror and see nothing but a monster? Where once was innocence and love is now a vast abyss of hatred. Self-Loathing. Why do I hate? How can I not hate? How do you change a lifetime of habit? One day at a time. It has taken me years just to be able to look into a mirror and not cringe.

You stand there with your self-righteous anger and your God spiel. Your hands are on your hips, anger washing over the sweet features of your face. The disapproval is evident upon your face. Why the disapproval? Is it that hard to believe that I am human? That hard to believe that I have wants and needs and would be willing to walk through hell to find something, anything, to supplement those needs?

I NEED to feel. I need to FEEL. Don’t you understand that? My life has been a black hole. One of my own making, come on now, we both know that once I left home, I was on my own. Those voices never leave your head. Those scars that you cannot see are still red and raw and angry. They don’t heal; they open and bleed with the slightest provocation.

I FEEL that. I feel that pain. I will forever feel that pain. I feed off it, like a sick parasite feeding off my own psychosis. Does that make me twisted? Yes, of course it does. I have no problem admitting that I am a twisted individual. But remember, I AM what I am. I am what THEY made me.

I wonder if there is a quasi-normal human being inside of me. I search so hard to find a way to let that part of me break free. The sick chains that bind me are too much. They are who I am. Accept me as I am. And maybe, someday, if I am very lucky, I will be able to do the same.

You give me more of your God spiel. I try so hard to pay attention. I grew up with that GOD you are talking about. Isn’t he the one that looks the other way for his Pederast right hands, allowing children to be mauled and abused? Isn’t he the one that condemns women for just being what they are?

I am one of those, one of those children. I remember lying in bed at night and praying with tears running down my face that my parents would just disappear. Every morning I would get up with the hope that MY GOD would have given a lift of his hand and those that hurt me were gone. But no, every morning I would face them across the breakfast table and had to pretend that everything was all right.

I was called a WHORE at eight years old. I didn’t know what a WHORE was, so I looked. I took it upon myself to look up the word in the dictionary. The definition destroyed me. So don’t shout your GOD at me. HE is NOT my GOD. Keep your God and your unyielding morals. I will keep mine.

This is the end of a friendship. I am saddened. I can’t be something I’m not. And I have finally realized that no matter how much I love you, I will never have you. You wouldn’t be able to unbend enough to love someone that has willingly broken the vows of a corrupt marriage.

Before you go, I want you to know that I have loved you for almost two solid years. I have wanted you for my own. Just you as you are, even with your unforgiving God, and your unforgiving nature. I foolishly thought that you would make me whole.

I’ll search forever. Goodbye, my friend. Take care and find what you’re looking for.