It’s been that long. Tonight, actually. The one month anniversary. You still try to talk to me. I’ve resigned myself to ever picking at this wound. I’m not sure how to stop. This entire thing makes me so inconceivably angry, at everything. My aggression levels peak at the strangest of perceived slights. I lash out at everyone, I’m attaching to the worst thing I can find for myself. It’s not his degradation, it’s my inability to deny it. While you’ve dehumanized me, I allow it to feed into his sadism. I want back what was taken, but how can I reclaim when I can’t figure out what’s missing?
A month. One. Whole. Month.
I just keep getting worse.
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