I Forgot, People Under 30 In NA Cant Read Cursive At The Best Of Times:

I forgot, people under 30 in NA can’t read cursive at the best of times:

All the Things I Deserve According to {HIM}:

- to be gang raped - to have acid thrown in my face - to be murdered - various forms - the be gang raped (to death) by my exes and buried in a shallow grave bc that’s what shitty people deserve. - to get Aids and die - to get cervical cancer and rot from the inside out alone in my 1 bedroom apt after my parents have given up on me. - to be punched in the face - to be miserable forever - to have multiple kids w/ multiple dads and have the world know how much of a slut and loser I am. - to always wonder if {HE} sticks w/ me bc he can’t do better or if he actually loves me. 

He told me write out all the things I deserved to reference any time I deigned to feel good.  I kept it under my mouse pad at work up until yesterday when I brought it home.

I can’t date this specifically, but I’m thinking Fall 2016.  I remember writing it.

Excuse the handwriting.

Let's lighten the mood a bit.

I'm sorry for that last one. It's been in my mental queue for months and needed to come out. It also provides context for things I've written and will write. I'm sorry all the same. If I neglected to tag something please let me know.

I first received a note on that post this morning when i woke up. Someone liked it, to my surprise, and it wasn't a name I recognized. So I investigated and I've been laughing incredulously at what I've found all day:

IT WAS THAT BAD

When we were working on the basement last summer, he got some concrete work done. So there was  some time where the floor in the basement was all broken up.  He told me if I kept upsetting him he’d bury my body there and cover me up with concrete.  

No one would ever know.

Jesus has a place for me, a life of sin and infamy

When I met him, I was certain I had found my soulmate.

I was a miserable teenager; I was always unhappy and never understood why.  I think I understand better now, but that’s a post for another day or blog.

He presented himself as exactly what I needed. He had a shaved head, with piercings all over his face, a leather motorcycle jacket and chain on his wallet. When he found me I was in ripped fishnets and my catholic school skirt at a bar underage.  We were wasted, and convinced it was fate.

He introduced me to ‘real’ punk: Dead Kennedy’s, Choking Victim/Leftover Crack, F-Minus, Pistolgrip, etc.  He told me he found solace in punk when his home life turned sour in his early teens. This music aligned with everything I was feeling (angst, restlessness, anger) and hated everything I hated: in short, boo discrimination and establishment, yay liberty from the reign of old white men. 

I felt I had hit the jackpot.  I had met a handsome bad boy who was just my type at the time.  He was a rebel who’s views mirrored mine (so I thought), who stood for something.  And he was absolutely mad about me. He spent his last $10 on me. He would send me songs that he knew would tug at my heart  - “Who wouldn’t be the one you love” from the Pumpkins - and draw us bubble baths.  He scraped together what little money he had and bought me a ring - the one I just recently took off - and told me that one day he’d marry me. He wanted us to live for one another.  He called me his saving grace, “the one”, his beauty, his reason. 

I remember distinctly thinking that I would take a bullet for him.  I was inconsolably in love.

The first incident occurred within the first two months of us being together officially.  However, I chalked it up to a stressful home life, and with the stuff above, found it easy to ignore him screaming at me.

He was testing my boundaries.

Little by little it all ebbed away. All of it.  The kindness, the rebellious spirit, the spontaneity, the love, even the values I thought he and I shared.  

This all seems… so long ago, but I put on a song today that I haven’t heard in years.  It took me back.  Back to when I didn’t see him as a monster.

I am an adult, and, I’m sorry, I can’t help the fact that I just need a damn hug today.

Just had a flashback - I treated myself to a smoothie this afternoon.

Last summer he asked me to pick him up a smoothie before coming to his house. It was a regular request. I obliged and started to drive to his place.

He sent me a text; he needed 3 other things at 3 different stores. I agreed to get them. It took some time, and by the time i had gotten to his house the smoothie had melted a bit.

He lost it. He told me I ruined smoothies for him and threw it ( as in wound up like a pitcher) into the sink. It splattered everywhere.

I sobbed silently as I wiped it up.