"it's lonely here, there's no one left to torture..."
i'd planned on abandoning this gawddamned thing but for some reason i can't figure out i've returned to it, over a year later, if for nothing else to vent. i rationalize it in my head that this livejournal thing isn't going to crash anytime soon, whearas my computer could, i could smash a disc, my apartment could catch on fire, and handwriting a journal is far too exhausting for me, as i think far much faster than i write and my pen pressure is unbearable. when i lift up the sheets of paper i can usually read what i've written several pages afterward. so here i go again. i'm going to let my ass bleed for all to see.
so let's start where i left off a year ago. oh yes, there she goes again, poor bleeding heart, the cycle continues, bitching about another ex-boyfriend. i dated this abusive, narcissistic waste of protoplasm for about 4 months and here i sit, still not even remotely ok after the experience. i've become a shut--in, a recluse, only attending my classes when i actually feel like it, and going to the grocery store, usually to buy liquor, although after the other night's episode i don't think i'll be doing that for awhile.
sure i played rough with him, we wrestled and had a somewhat unusual relationship in the beginning, but i found out too late (about 2 months into the relationship) he had a history of violence ( and also didn't know the meaning of the words "no" or stop it) and less than a week later he plowed me into a wall--for knocking the covers off of his bed. my leg was severely bruised in two places and i couldn't walk right for 3 days. then there was incident in which he choked me, which caused me to temporarily black out. and of course, i can't forget the lovely gash in my chest. i previously wrote about it, trying to brush it off as it it were no big deal, talked about it to friends like it were no big deal, even compared it with another girlfriend who had scars who was also having emotional problems at the time...haha my scar is bigger than yours, trying to maintain a hard-as- nails exterior but silently cracking on the inside. but the fucker wouldn't take me to the hospital for stitches, claiming "oh my gawd, they'll think i did it!" well no shit. be careful with that axe, jerrod, you might hurt somebody. and why didn't i do anything about it throughout all this time? how do you tell the other person who just kicked your ass to merely calm down and sit quietly while you call the cops? then there is just the traditional path, that unfortunately most women decide to take. if i called the authorities he probably would be locked up for a few nights, provided they believed me, and he would come out angrier than ever and with a vengeance. so i just shut the fuck up for the most part except towards the end and drank myself into oblivion most nights for all the shame i felt for allowing this to happen when i was alone, and more so when he was around so i would be anesthetized if he became rough. and then there was just another oddities in his sexual interests i couldn't cope with. i was afraid to say no for fear of provoking his anger. i felt like i'd stepped into a fucking david cronenburg film. i'm not claiming innocence on my part here either, but i don't think i did anything awful enough to merit what happened in that stage of my life. and when i finally walked out, i thought the healing would begin. it hasn't. every fucking day when i look in the mirror i have to see that fucking scar and i'm reminded of him so i can't ever forget. i can deal with the ones i've inflicted upon myself, but NOT THAT. and i'm blown away that he's walking around telling other girls that i treated him like an absolute OGRE (i believe that is the term he uses for me), while i was the one who walked on fucking eggshells, smoothed out the covers on his fucking bed to make sure there were no wrinkles so i wouldn't taste paneling again, i bought all the food he specifically liked when he came for the weekend because he told me to, up until i decided i'd rather die than spend another second with him. and i'll never forget the irony of what he said to me the night i left him--that this action was like a slap in the face to him. had i not already been in complete hysterics i think i would have exploded into raucous laughter. he wasn't in love with me, but the fear and control he instilled in me. i am living proof of what even just a little bit of physical abuse can do to a person, along with long term alcoholism. it's a bit like the doppler effect--the farther in time i get away from this person, the louder are my internal screams, and the more i disintegrate, both emotionally and physically. i have horrific, vivid nightmares almost every time i sleep. and it's so hard to sleep anymore, even with my medication. i always wake up sweating. and in spite of it all, i'm just so tired. too tired but i'm scared to sleep, because the nightmares always return. my room stinks of fear, otherwise known as epinephrine. this is what people mean when they say that they can smell fear. why the sweat of people who are terrified or severely stressed stinks so much worse than regular sweat. this is also what recently dead people emit. i'd change the bedding everyday if i wasn't so tired. now i'm losing my train of thought. i think it wrecked a while ago. i'm starting to crash from my caffeine and klonopin high. it's a nice step up from being drunk though--the last time i got insanely drunk i kicked a cop, and my leg still hurts. shame i didn't get arrested and go to jail--i could have maybe found myself a nice girlfriend. but that, said Story Man to his River Bank Friends, is another story for another day!
so let's start where i left off a year ago. oh yes, there she goes again, poor bleeding heart, the cycle continues, bitching about another ex-boyfriend. i dated this abusive, narcissistic waste of protoplasm for about 4 months and here i sit, still not even remotely ok after the experience. i've become a shut--in, a recluse, only attending my classes when i actually feel like it, and going to the grocery store, usually to buy liquor, although after the other night's episode i don't think i'll be doing that for awhile.
sure i played rough with him, we wrestled and had a somewhat unusual relationship in the beginning, but i found out too late (about 2 months into the relationship) he had a history of violence ( and also didn't know the meaning of the words "no" or stop it) and less than a week later he plowed me into a wall--for knocking the covers off of his bed. my leg was severely bruised in two places and i couldn't walk right for 3 days. then there was incident in which he choked me, which caused me to temporarily black out. and of course, i can't forget the lovely gash in my chest. i previously wrote about it, trying to brush it off as it it were no big deal, talked about it to friends like it were no big deal, even compared it with another girlfriend who had scars who was also having emotional problems at the time...haha my scar is bigger than yours, trying to maintain a hard-as- nails exterior but silently cracking on the inside. but the fucker wouldn't take me to the hospital for stitches, claiming "oh my gawd, they'll think i did it!" well no shit. be careful with that axe, jerrod, you might hurt somebody. and why didn't i do anything about it throughout all this time? how do you tell the other person who just kicked your ass to merely calm down and sit quietly while you call the cops? then there is just the traditional path, that unfortunately most women decide to take. if i called the authorities he probably would be locked up for a few nights, provided they believed me, and he would come out angrier than ever and with a vengeance. so i just shut the fuck up for the most part except towards the end and drank myself into oblivion most nights for all the shame i felt for allowing this to happen when i was alone, and more so when he was around so i would be anesthetized if he became rough. and then there was just another oddities in his sexual interests i couldn't cope with. i was afraid to say no for fear of provoking his anger. i felt like i'd stepped into a fucking david cronenburg film. i'm not claiming innocence on my part here either, but i don't think i did anything awful enough to merit what happened in that stage of my life. and when i finally walked out, i thought the healing would begin. it hasn't. every fucking day when i look in the mirror i have to see that fucking scar and i'm reminded of him so i can't ever forget. i can deal with the ones i've inflicted upon myself, but NOT THAT. and i'm blown away that he's walking around telling other girls that i treated him like an absolute OGRE (i believe that is the term he uses for me), while i was the one who walked on fucking eggshells, smoothed out the covers on his fucking bed to make sure there were no wrinkles so i wouldn't taste paneling again, i bought all the food he specifically liked when he came for the weekend because he told me to, up until i decided i'd rather die than spend another second with him. and i'll never forget the irony of what he said to me the night i left him--that this action was like a slap in the face to him. had i not already been in complete hysterics i think i would have exploded into raucous laughter. he wasn't in love with me, but the fear and control he instilled in me. i am living proof of what even just a little bit of physical abuse can do to a person, along with long term alcoholism. it's a bit like the doppler effect--the farther in time i get away from this person, the louder are my internal screams, and the more i disintegrate, both emotionally and physically. i have horrific, vivid nightmares almost every time i sleep. and it's so hard to sleep anymore, even with my medication. i always wake up sweating. and in spite of it all, i'm just so tired. too tired but i'm scared to sleep, because the nightmares always return. my room stinks of fear, otherwise known as epinephrine. this is what people mean when they say that they can smell fear. why the sweat of people who are terrified or severely stressed stinks so much worse than regular sweat. this is also what recently dead people emit. i'd change the bedding everyday if i wasn't so tired. now i'm losing my train of thought. i think it wrecked a while ago. i'm starting to crash from my caffeine and klonopin high. it's a nice step up from being drunk though--the last time i got insanely drunk i kicked a cop, and my leg still hurts. shame i didn't get arrested and go to jail--i could have maybe found myself a nice girlfriend. but that, said Story Man to his River Bank Friends, is another story for another day!