May 31, 2018

I needed to write a journal.  I needed to journal my feelings.  I needed to work through the feelings I have.  I needed to work out the trauma, the pain, and what I thought was possible.  Then, I discovered on top of everything else I was not real to him.  I was only a job.  A job he was paid for his time to be with me.  Not to mention everything I laid bare for him.

To say I’m hurt is not enough.

I am sick with grief.  Sick.  My mother.  Sick.  My cats.  Sick.  

He treats me as if I am simple and dumb, so for him…I must be.

I never, in my life thought that I was simple and dumb until I entered his world.  I believed the word sincere.  I believed he might have been sincere until the scale and circumstance of my life proved otherwise.

I was only a game.  A job.  Something he was paid to do.

I wish I knew how to write other words other than shame.

The man who used to bring me sunshine used me for money and nothing else.

I wrote a journal for a few days and wrote it to a “Robert Frost” it was important to me to be able to write to a real person rather than a nothing.

My Mistake.

Because of how bad he made me feel I decided to share it.  So, no one else would have to live with the shame of believing in a man who cares not.

I am starting with the last, first.

May 31, 2018

10:04pm

Robert Frost,

I am taking a break from you.

I am taking a break from writing to you, writing on my blog, writing about all the dead bodies and persons I see edited into news stories, from writing about dangerous men I see, sick children, and flirting with you.

I cannot stand to look at myself in the mirror, I am too fat and disgusting.  My opinion of myself matters more than anything,

If I do not like myself, then I cannot be myself.

I am going back to where I was before I thought you were a true blue.  Because I am so disheartened and disgusted with myself.

You come and go too often and those you have in the interim are not the same nor do they do well by me.

This is a huge problem for me, and I am sick to death of problems I do not want nor understand.

You are not good for me.

You do not wear well on me.

I am not sure this can be repaired anymore.

Perhaps that means I must change my tastes in movies and films.

Every day this feels more and more like a mistake.

I need to take a break from you.