Sitting crying in St Albans City Centre. 15 minutes until my appointment.
I hate myself. I hate that he had the power to ruin me like this. I hate that my daughter has to witness me like this, more often that not because I don’t have the strength to even fight it off anymore. I hate that daily I relieve the whole thing, the pain, both emotional and physical. Yeah so the act lasted lasted less than half a minute, but fucking hell the damage is untold.
I hate that I’m nowhere near strong enough to battle him head on. I hate that I don’t even recognise myself anymore.
Fake smiles, fake laughter, fake trust. Fake life.
I hate that I can’t work out if I’m strong or if I’m pathetically weak.
I hate him for what he did and has caused me. I hate that a few good days is combated by a few awful days.
I hate me. I hate what I’ve become. Innocent, but guilty at the same time..
I hate thinking of him being able to perhaps think of what he did perhaps once a day, when I think of fuck all else, when I am UNABLE to think of anything else, rather.
Getting myself heard is one thing, but fixing myself? Where do I even start, eh?