actually no, i feel like i need to write a little more. whenever i post, i always look back at my old posts. always. and i am always so disgusted, because who did i think i was? talking about anxiety, talking about that piece of shit boyfriend, talking about PARTIES? i was so....dumb. literally, i can't remember those being things i was ever legitimately upset about. whenever i would write them, i would make it about a certain topic - but it is never what i actually meant. would i be upset about something? yes, but it was something i couldn't talk about because i'd get my shit beat if i did. it's funny how none of my friends know this exists. i don't tell my friends anything. i don't even tell dora. no one knows how bad it ever got. no one. i still have marks all over my body from where he would hit me. there's a lump on top of my head from when he threw me against the wall once. it's hard to remind myself that that part of my life is over. it's traumatizing. and i don't know who to talk to about it. it isn't fair that he gets to go on with his life, as if nothing happened. like he didn't fuck me up for an entire two years. but, i know it's my fault. i should have just left, but i was so afraid. whenever i think about that time, or him, i just want to end the pain. i never liked him, that was the worst part. i didn't stay because some part of me loved him, and thought he was a good person deep down. i was just afraid of him hurting me to the point of no return.
there was a time he left me in the middle of a dirt road, in the middle of nowhere, without my phone, in a shady city for an entire two hours.
the veins under my eyes were always popped. they were just red and purple from how often i would cry.
my stomach and ribs were always bruised.
my car radio was smashed.
my phone was smashed.
my clothes were always ripped.
i could never speak. i could never go out.
but was this even his fault or was it mine
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