Twenty-Two Rugpjūtis of Twenty Eleven

I have suddenly, and once against, cast myself into a state of great mental debate. Surely, I have been here before, but never once has an offer looked so tempting. It's odd how the stubbornness that I threw myself into only a few years ago has worn down so quickly. Something that was so hard to completely through away sits in front of me now, like an offer I can no longer resist.

The tears are not enough anymore. The burning mascara tears that caress my face do not give the satisfaction that I quest for. I need more to fulfill my broken heart. I want to understand it with my body, not just in my soul. I'm shaking, all over. I'm clawing at the counter, I'm ripping holes in my sheets, gripping myself like someone in a straight jacket. I'm trying to convince myself that these desires are not to be finished. All I can do it sit on my hands and rock back and forth; it's the only way.

What's breaks me now is him. And this is the third day I've been here and I've already stained my pillow case with hurt tears. I'm so desperate to earn him back. I do everything he asks. At this point, I might actually step beyond my boundaries and try something new. Of course, I don't want to. But what does it matter? That statement is what breaks me down. I made a mistake, a huge one, yes. And now, everything I feel is disregarded and thrown away. My feelings are nothing of value because if he hurts me, it's nothing compared to what I've done. And collectively, no, it isn't. How could I ever even suggest that I would be? And yet, I think that these tears are adding up. I'm sick of having only him to be honest with, and yet I can't be honest at all. I can never show him what I'm feeling because it doesn't matter to him. In fact, it disgusts him. And if I have to hide to have him love me, I'll do it. I can't have my own feelings tossed aside, so I become apathetic and cold. I'm really not so distant, but if you separate me from my feeling, who do you really expect to talk to?

I try everything to make him happy. He'll say that I've made my mistakes, that I'm not doing good enough. But I'm trying. I am. When I hurt him accidentally, it kills me to know I did it, and then he tears me down like an old poster that nobody wants to see. I get double the torture, and all the accident.

I was convinced when I began this that my torture would fade, that my conviction would not continue. However, with every character I write, I crave more and more. I deny myself so vehemently, yet it is become more challenging each day.

I don't think I can hold onto what I was anymore.

'Find the tools to save a life,
Why was Amanda tested twice?
Stubbornness was the wall I hid behind.
I'm hiding my want from the world.
This will bring me satisfaction,
and the dark clouds of consequence.'