“It’s okay to say, I let this happen to me because I had no self-respect, and chose not to hurt the other person – because I didn’t believe it was okay to fight for myself at the expense of someone else. In fact, at times, I didn’t even know that I could fight for myself. Fight, even at all. I didn’t see how I was being manipulated. I didn’t understand ‘coercion’. I’m so used to hearing, “Baby, don’t be like that”, and feeling guilty – actually feeling remorseful because I’m disappointing someone else.”
“Don’t touch me. I don’t like to be touched. You’re in my bubble – my personal space. I can be in this industry, and still have personal space.
We expect a shitstorm. We expect a mentality that defines us as rude or unservicelike. We don’t get to have personal space in this industry. Are we kidding? We’re servers. How dare we tell our customers that them touching our arm makes us uncomfortable? We don’t have the right to feel uncomfortable. Do we like our jobs, us servers?”
“I want to write to kill.”
These words are sounding in my mind, being fueled by the insatiable anger and anxiety I continually wake drenched in.
I am hateful, suicidal, murderous, aggressive, violent, reckless, hopeless, lost.
I am being dragged by my emotions again.
This I know.
“Love and Loss are holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes and laughing heartily at the wrath in their wake.”
“With broken breath, in misty meadows,
I seek refuge, hidden beneath shadows.
In, the unwelcome sense of familiarity crept.
My face in thorns, alone I wept.
Along these paths I would often trek,
Wringing my hands unwillingly from my neck..”
“What inside your mind fuels such rage? Why do you want to break bones? What about physically and poisonously expressing your seething rage by means of intimidating and scarring those littler than you makes you feel better? Is it about power? Does it make you feel stronger, or like more of a man? Do you enjoy the stinging of the slapping, punching and the kicking?”
“A person cannot be broken. The mind has no parts, no structure, no known manifestation. If you’re broken, what is? Your body? That can heal; even bones can be mended. Your mind? Your personality? Your soul? Show me how it’s broken?”
“I was abused as a kid.
The same can be said for one in every four psychology students.
Did you know? Maybe you can tell. There are signs.
Even victims of abuse are typical to one another.”
“He opened up his notifications expectantly.
“Lola Whiteley posted on your timeline.”
He follows the link.
We’re a mixed race couple.
It was so romantic.”