The Payment Series
CASSANDRA CARR

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Prized: The Payment series, part 1
After agreeing to a one-year term of service with a benefactor who can pay her debt, Catrina Carter begins training in how to please a man. But will a benefactor be willing to spend such an astronomical sum-one hundred and fifty thousand dollars-just to have her for a year? She’s about to find out.

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Possessed: The Payment series, part 2
Jared, Catrina’s “benefactor”, has agreed to pay off her debt in exchange for one year of service to him. In addition to taking his own pleasure with her, Jared offers Catrina to friends, colleagues, and even total strangers on his whim. But it’s not all fun and pleasure for Jared. As part of the agreement, he’s tasked with helping Catrina get her life back on track. He’ll succeed even if he has to spank every piece of financial information into her, and he finds he just might have to do that.
 

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Purgatory: The Payment series, part 3
Catrina has finished her year-long term of service to Jared, her benefactor, who paid all her debt off. Now she’s on her own again. Will she be able to keep the lessons Jared literally spanked into her topmost in her mind, or will old habits rear their designer heads?

Author bio
Cassandra Carr is a multi-award winning erotic romance writer with Ellora’s Cave, Sybarite Seductions/Twenty or Less Press, Decadent Publishing, Siren Publishing, and Loose Id. She lives in Western New York with her husband, Inspiration, and her daughter, Too Cute for Words. When not writing she enjoys watching hockey and hanging out online. Cassandra is the co-founder of two successful group blogs, Romancing the Jock and Dirty Birdies, and participates in several others as a contributor. Currently Cassandra also serves as president of Western New York Romance Writers.
For more information about Cassandra, check out her  website,  “like” her  Facebook fan page  or follow her on  Twitter .

Links:
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Phoenix Rising…I hope ;)

I’m sure most of you knew that a divorce was in my future, surprisingly from my perspective it didn’t really have anything to do with my need/desire to incorporate BDSM into my life. My husband and I grew apart. He became so wrapped up in his goal to complete his Master’s Degree, he put everything else on the back burner. No one, or nothing was as important as what he was doing….at least to him, and it hasn’t only been his relationship with me that has suffered.

I got pregnant with my oldest daughter at 18, during my second year of college. I started dating my husband shortly before she was born, I was 19. I have & haven’t been on my own before so I’m a little nervous about what it will be like once our divorce is final. I know you’re trying to figure out how it’s possible to be & not to be on my own, so I will try to explain. I grew up in a house where abuse occurred. A week after my 16th birthday, my father beat me with a baseball bat. The next week on New Year’s, my resolution was to never let him hit me again. I’ve been in shelters, foster care, group homes, a runaway so I have been in situations where I was on my own. The difference is that I didn’t have anyone else to take care of, and I can’t screw this up.

I am still a submissive, I know that now more than ever. I also know that I can only be submissive with the right person. I have a better understanding of what my limits are than I did a year ago, and I know that I am much stronger than I once thought. A lot of people think that D/s relationships are all about sex, but in my case I know that it’s about trust, love, caring and commitment.

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Every Sub Is Allowed A Temper Tantrum, Right?

English: Bent forward strappado

English: Bent forward strappado (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Okay, if you are a Dom reading this you are probably thinking HELL NO…..actually, the funniest thing that happened after my  outburst & fit of self-doubt is that the Doms all said to breathe.  So maybe it’s not all that unsubmissive to question the depth of one’s submissiveness , lol.

But seriously, after I was able to get past that huge period of self-doubt I was able to think about things more clearly. I was very productive, mapping out a beginning the writing process for an Interracial BDSM story ;). Started the day out on the right foot, worked through a really crappy event with a Dom & able to see it from an outsider’s perspective. Then said Dom was kind enough to use orgasm control in a manner that left me with a high/bliss like feeling….Thank You ;).

Tainted Love: A Memoir

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Learning How to Love
My therapist has asked me several times recently where I learned how to be such a loving and caring woman and mother, because I didn’t have an example of how to be that way. But that’s not true, I always come back to you, Dad. I don’t know what changed on May 26,1986, but I know that before that day you loved me. You taught me how to love and care about other’s.
I can remember the first time that you took me fishing just like it was yesterday. I was so excited, you took me outside to the backyard and you taught me how to look for night crawlers. You gave me a little spade and you carried a white plastic container with a clear lid on it. Then you told me to look underneath our deck because it was cool and dark there, and my best chance of finding any night crawler would be there. I remember the smile you had on your face, I could see all of your sparkling white teeth and I was so proud of myself.
I can still hear your voice as you told me that I did a good job. You let me play with that first night crawler for awhile. I was amazed by how long it was; I investigated every last ridge it had on it, and the way part of it was a purplish gray color. Then you started laughing when I started screaming after finding out that the brown stuff coming out of the end was poop; I started laughing too, but I held onto that night crawler. I watched with excitement as you put it into the white container on top of the dirt that you’d added, when I wasn’t looking.
I don’t remember how many night crawlers I collected that night , but I remember thinking how gross it was that we had to put the container in the downstairs refrigerator. Even though we only used that fridge for drinks and the built in keg tap, I was still grossed out. Then you told me to go to the upstairs bathroom that was across the hall from my bedroom and take a bath. We both knew how mad Mom would be if I got any dirt in the house. So I ran up the stairs,and immediately to a bath.
I could hardly sleep that night, and I had to go to bed before my normal bedtime because we would be leaving early the next morning. Mom came to check on me, but I heard her coming and made sure to pretend like I was asleep. I was scared that if she caught me awake, she wouldn’t let me go fishing with you the next day.
You had told me that an older man named Frank Tribble would be going fishing with us. I spent part of the time I was awake,trying to imagine what Mr. Tribble would be like. I figured he would nice because you said that you’d known him since you were my age. At the time, it seemed like that was forever; it’s funny how a six year old views time. I finally fell asleep.
The next morning you came to wake me up at the crack of dawn. I didn’t understand what that expression really meant until that morning; at five in the morning, there had barely been a streak of light in the dark purple sky. I didn’t care though, I was just happy to help you collect all of our fishing gear. I remember telling mom good bye as I ran after you to your old red and white Ford truck.
We put all of the gear into the bed of the truck, and then you opened the passenger side door and helped me climb into the cab. I sat down in the middle and you double checked my seat belt to make sure it was fastened correctly. Then you walked around to the driver’s side door and hopped into the truck; the engine started to purr once you turned the key, and then we set out on adventure.
When we got to Mr. Tribble’s house, he was sitting on his porch waiting for us to arrive. Once he got situated in the passenger’s seat, you introduced us to one another. I remember being amazed at how small and skinny he was. Mr. Tribble lived off of Sixth street, right around the corner from the Benjamin Banneker community center. As we passed Banneker, you told me that when you were little it used to be the black school.
I was confused and asked what a “black school” was, then you told me that when you were little all of the black kids in Bloomington went to that school. I asked you how come you all went to the same school, because I was the only black kid in my class. I couldn’t believe it when you told me that when you were little, black kids and white kids didn’t go to school together. You told me that when you went to Bloomington High school, the black and white kids went to school together.
To be honest, I don’t remember much about that conversation. All that my little brain could focus on was catching fish; I was convinced that I would catch a ton of fish in no time at all. I knew what to do, my dad had already shown me how to cast & I’d practiced reeling in several imaginary fish over the last twenty-four hours.
As we got closer to my dad’s special spot, I began to notice sounds that I’d never heard before; the closer we got to the private pound, the foggier it became outside the truck. I never would’ve admitted it at the time, but I had started getting scared. I’m going to go out on a limb and say the fear must have been evident on my face, because both my dad and Mr. Tribble started laughing.
Then my dad told me that the low gurgle like sounds that I was hearing was only two frogs trying to find one another. He said it was like when my sister and I would yell for one another when we were in different rooms, those frogs just wanted to know what one another were doing. By the time my dad parked the truck, all of my fear was gone and I was ready to catch some fish.
At the time, I had no idea that that fishing trip would be one of my fondest memories of him. I guess I loved that day, because he didn’t have to be the cop who took care of everyone or the coach who taught teens how to play football. That day he was just my dad, sharing your history with me and showing me what a parent’s love was supposed to be like.
DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL
One of my earliest memories took place at this church; I was walking with my mother when a woman stopped us and said that I looked like my mother. I looked at her and said with the simplicity of a child: No I don’t, I’m my daddy’s girl! As young girl I was my dad’s shadow; to me, the sun rose and set with my father. If my dad went somewhere, I was always right there by his side. I was there when we got into his truck when it was still dark outside, and we stopped to pick Frank Tribble up, so we could set off on one of our 5a.m. fishing trips. My dad had a secret spot on the northern end of the county. On my first trip I of course caught the most & largest fish. I can remember the excitement that I had when I described the “big mouth” bass that I caught. My dad just smiled and didn’t even tell me that it was really called a large mouth bass. Then there were all the football practices that he took me to, where I would yell at the players to get their legs up higher as they ran through the tire drills. Or the fact that he used to call me little bird, because he painted the wood trim around our rock garden white and I got into the wet paint. He told me that it looked like a little bird had gotten into it & thus my nickname was born.
When I was little, I would get scared every-time he went to work because I didn’t know if he would return home safely. Well, I paid attention to all of the lessons that I had at daycare on calling 911 to call the police. In fact, you could say that I learned the lesson too well. I would always call 911 & ask if I could speak to my father. However, that all changed the day the 911 dispatcher called my house and spoke to my mother. She asked my mom if she could teach me the non emergency number for the police department, apparently they didn’t feel that my wanting to speak to my dad was an emergency….ooooooppps!
If you knew my father in a professional way or if he was ever your football or wrestling coach, then you know that my father could be tough. He wanted you to give him 110% of your effort, because that’s what he always gave. I’ll be the first to admit that at times it could be frustrating. But to this day, I can still feel the pride he had when he told me that he’d heard my name on the radio, after I won the 300 meter hurdles at my first high school competition.
However, my father wasn’t always tough. I can still see the tears that ran down his face on the day of my prom. You’re probably thinking that his tears had something to do with me growing up, but you’d be wrong. He was really crying because the thing he wanted the most for his birthday in 1992, was for his little bird to get better from my paralysis. So for his birthday, I was able to walk to him unassisted and I saw my father cry. He also cried when he held each of my daughters’ for the first time. I may not be my Daddy’s little girl anymore, but I will always cherish the memories of when I was.

 

Copyright Bisublivinginvanillaworld 6/18/12

All Rights Reserved.  This cannot be copied in whole

or in part without the author’s sole express permission.

Undeserved Sorrow

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It’s funny, my dad is dead but I’ve thought about him all day long; last yr on Father’s Day I felt so much anger towards him, I posted a facebook status that wished all fathers a happy day except for my own. Last night, a very wise Dom told me that I wasn’t really sad because my dad’s not here, but that I was sad because my dad wasn’t the father that he should’ve been.
It’s true, all these months that I’ve been mourning my father, but I’ve not been mourning the man who died on September 21, 2012. Lately, the song Somebody that I Used to Know/em>; has been the one that comes to mind, and slips through my lips when I’m experiencing my deepest moments of anguish.
I guess it’s kind of fitting that this song represents the two most important men in my life, my father and my husband. In the beginning they were both the forces that could make the sun shine in my life, now they’re the forces that bring the storms and clouds. Perhaps, I put them both on pedestals that would’ve been difficult for any man to remain on; in actuality, I think the tainted love that my father created in my life found a way to seep into other relationships.
After all, my dad was one of the biggest influences on my deciding to pursue my husband. I wanted to be with someone who was as different from my dad as possible, my pale redheaded husband is about as different as I could get from my brown skinned dad. Growing up in in my father’s house I learned one thing for sure, I wouldn’t marry a man who would beat me or my children. My father taught me how to fight, no it may not have been during a scheduled lesson, but I learned how to kick some ass from him. Hey, a girl only lets a bat get broken on her back once. At the time I took it as a compliment when my mom was driving my 17 yr old self back to the place where I was staying, and she said, “Girl, you really know how to fight. You didn’t just scratch and claw, you were punching him!”
Today as I think about that afternoon, I realize how entirely fucked up it was for my mom to compliment me on my fighting skills. It’s those situations that led to all the tests that my husband had to pass. To be completely honest, I would’ve left my ass; there’s no way in hell I would’ve tolerated someone throwing raw chicken at my ass. It would’ve been on, like Donkey Kong. The first time someone would’ve thrown something at me or used their hands to strike my body, that would’ve been the end.
But, somehow he was able to see beneath all the hurt and anger; he knew I was a diamond in the rough. I guess that’s part of why it’s been so painful to go throw all of the shit we’re going through right now. He loved me at a point when I didn’t truly love myself; he helped me grow into the woman that I am today. Unfortunately, now that I’m stronger I am able to see things more clearly; I am able to see through all the manipulative bullshit that he tries. My dad was the king of manipulative behavior, I’m just surprised it took me so long to see what was right in front of me.
I guess since it’s father’s day I should thank my dad for all of the wonderful things that he taught me, I’ve got a feeling my list is going to be a little different from my friends lists’. Here we go. THINGS THAT MY DAD TAUGHT ME:
1. No man better ever hit me, and if he does there’s no need to apologize because I’ll be gone
2. Be careful what you say, because you never know how the other person is going to throw it back in your face
3. Just because someone seems nice and loving in public that doesn’t mean that’s their true self
4. Size up your opponent, look for their weakness, give them a strong right hook & then kick them in the nuts if you have to
5. No matter what I do, it’s never going to be good enough for you
6. The people you love are the one’s who can hurt you the most
7. That I should be ashamed of my body
8. I’m going to grow up to be a worthless whore, that no one will ever love
9. If someone is choking you, hold your breath and the might actually believe they’ve killed you…in my case it did make him quit choking me
10.it’s possible for the person that you love the most in the entire world, to tell you they’re thinking about killing you and then themselves
11. Any time that I experience sexual pleasure, I should also feel shame & guilt…although, I’m not entirely sure if you wanted me to experience shame & guilt or just not have sexual pleasure

That wise Dom is correct, I am NOT sad because you are gone. I am sad because the father I loved died the first time that he beat me. I guess I spent the rest of my life hoping that somehow, someway, that amazing man would resurface; and to be completely fair, he did show up from time to time.
I remember when I was going to graduate from college (it was my first graduation, the quadriplegia kind of fucked up that whole high school thing for me), I didn’t have enough money to buy my cap and gown. He sent me the money, even though he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to attend.
I also have fond memories of things that he did with his grandchildren, taking them fishing, buying them clothes, taking them to the zoo. He even barbecued for one of his grandchildren’s birthdays; on a hot and sweaty July day, he didn’t complain when he had to cook on two grills, using separate tools so that our Muslim friends would be able to celebrate with us.
I’m mourning these brief glimpses of time, when he was that AMAZING man. I’m sad that that man died when I was in fifth grade, but I’m also sad that it took me until today to realize it. Since my father’s no longer here, I will never know why he changed. There are times that I wish he were still here so I could ask him, what the fuck happened?
I want to know how a person can go from being the most amazing father one day, and become a horrific monster the next. I’ve tried to examine everything that occurred and see if there were any common factors, besides me of course. I’m pretty sure his problem was me & anyone with a cock. Maybe, he thought I’d remain a virgin for the rest of my life….his beatings had the opposite effect, they sent me into the arms of anyone who showed me love.

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Somebody That I Used To Know

Decisions, Decisions

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It’s been an interesting week to say the least; the truth is out and now it’s decision making time, except I’m not really sure what choice I should make. My husband asked me what kind of marriage did I want, I said open. I love my husband but I’m not “in love” with him right now; we’ve both changed over the last 18 yrs, in someways I think we changed roles.
When we met I was 18, and had discovered I was pregnant a few weeks earlier. We actually became friends in the first place because I would talk to him while I would wait for my fiancé at his dorm. The more we talked the more I found him attractive, but nothing happened until after I broke up with my daughter’s father. In someways he was my knight in shining armor; when my mom went to the other side of the country in order to leave my dad, I was left with no family and a two month
old. He was my rock. When I was totally freaked out and stressed, his family watched my daughter so I could have a few days to try and wrap my head around things.
He saw me at my worst, but he still loved me. God knows I tested him more than any person should ever be tested; I had to know that he wouldn’t beat me or my child, I wasn’t going to repeat my childhood. I can say with complete honesty that he has never physical hurt me, or any of the children.
Unfortunately, somewhere along the way my needs changed and I discovered I would actually like someone to hurt me in a BDSM way. I can’t say if this is just a phase and next week I’ll want something different. Although, it’s been my desire for over a year & a half….way before the Fifty Shades of Grey craze. It is also all but impossible for me to respond to him as a Dom; I’ve tried and it just doesn’t work.
One of the reasons I love him, is because he truly knows my (which also makes it easier for him to hurt me). While we were laying on the bed talking about things, and he was trying to get me to stop crying he said something that I’ve thought from time to time.
You know, you were jerked out of high school before your class even graduated. Then you were thrust into college & you got pregnant. If you think about it there are a lot of things you never got to experience. Then he said that maybe I needed some space so that I could experience those things.
I’ve been living under the cloud of all types of abuse until last year, when I decided it was time for me to heal. Maybe, all of these changes have occurred within me because I’m finally strong enough to shovel through the crap. In my everyday lives I’m am strong and always fighting to keep moving towards the goal. However when it comes to things of a sexual nature, I find it more gratifying and freeing when I am being submissive.
I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to understand and learn about my true submissive nature; hell, to be honest I’m not even sure what all turns me on or what all is out there. Through my “mentoring”, I’ve discovered that I apparently like a little shame, humiliation & guilt. I’m also learning that you can like things in varying degrees. I also have a Domme side, but generally is only arousing to me in terms of being with another woman. I already knew I loved orgasm control and have been exploring this aspect as well.
I’ve also learned some things about my sexual preferences that I am not altogether comfortable with, and have had ideas, vids or discussions that have triggered negative reactions. These negative reactions correlate to things that I’ve recently identified in therapy.
It’s nice to have someone who will push me when I try and change the subject because I’m uncomfortable. It’s not such a great feeling when I upset the person that I’m working with,I’ve always hated disappointing people so maybe thats the submissive in me.
This journey is nowhere near complete, and I know that it’s going to have some really rough parts (like trying to figure out what type of marriage I’m going to be in), but I’m also going to learn who I really am, what I do and don’t like, and hopefully get to a point where I’m comfortable with the fact that I really like, love sex.

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Stuck

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A wise man once said

Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds

&

The truth is everyone is going to hurt you. You just have to find the ones worth suffering for

BOB MARLEY

I’ve been trying to free myself from my mental slavery for awhile; I can even say that I don’t hate you, too bad it didn’t happen while you were still here. I often think that I wish that I’d had the chance to say good-bye to you, but what would I have said? I’m sorry that you’re death is near, I love you….or would it be more along these lines: I’m sad that the end is near for you, I can’t begin to tell you the pain I have in my heart. But, I am angry as hell at you! Do you realize that I loved you more than anything else in this entire world? Perhaps, that’s the reason you were able to crush my soul; I spent more time with you than anyone else, so you knew how to make sure the pain stuck.
For the first few months after you died, I could only feel sadness for the loss of the man that everyone else knew. Now, now I can feel the anger and hurt for the monster you were as well. I’m angry that you turned me into the broken person that I am right now. I know this phase will pass, you know the phase when all of the horrible things you ever did or said get stuck on repeat. I can clearly hear the bass of your voice when you said that maybe you should kill me and then kill yourself. Who does that? Who says that fucking kind of thing to their own child? Maybe I could’ve forgiven you if you only said that one time, if I only thought you were going to take my life once. But, I can’t begin to count the number of times you said or did these kind of things to me. Here’s my question for you: Why didn’t you go ahead and kill me?
You never physically killed me, but each time one these things happened it killed apart of my soul and destroyed my self-esteem. Do you know that when something goes wrong, it’s never just that one thing for me. I hear you say I’m worthless and no one would want me, I hear you when you’re saying you should kill me…or, my heart’s racing and I have a feeling like the closed door is going to be busted open (you did do that, so I guess that’s founded). The only time I remember a dream, is when I’m dreaming you’re trying to kill me. For months I’d been stuck, stuck in the stage where I just felt sadness for your loss.
To the depth of my being, I don’t think you intended to fuck me up like you did. Constantly trying to find someone that I can please, because I could never please either of you. Hell, I even tried to make sure that you were taken care of after your strokes, when you caught your house on fire, and through all of your heart problems. You didn’t deserve my kindness, or my love. I stupidly gave them to you anyway.
I obviously haven’t mastered the second quote; I care about almost everyone. I’ve always treated other’s the way that I want to be treated, sadly it is rarely reciprocated. I’ve been told that I see thing as either black or white, with no grey in the middle. I’m not sure that’s the best description; I think I start out trying to trust people, but eventually realize the truth.
Even with YOU,I can’t be mad. It’s not like you lied to me and told me that you cared about me. It is simply the fault of my tainted mind; I erroneously tend to believe that it’s possible for me to make someone care about or find value in me. I want trust people too easily; I want someone to want to protect and care for me. So today, I am determined to find a way to bring this pain to the surface whenever I meet someone. Maybe I can find a way to cause some kind of electrical shock/or other instant form of pain to be triggered, whenever I start to think I can trust someone. I’ve heard it said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over, but expecting a different result; I’m going to change things up, maybe I can create a mantra to repeat throughout the day: trust & care for no one, after all it’s what they would do for you 🙂 !

I Thought You Were Different, But I Was Wrong

fuck

fuck (Photo credit: shellehs)

I don’t want you to feel responsible for me; hell, no one’s done that since before 1993
All I have to do is close my heart off more to the world
For some reason, I let myself believe that you would be different; you were for awhile, you were my rock
But then one day you moved me to my personal hell; still, I was supportive of you
You didn’t even notice that my soul  was fading away
You threw me into the arms of my abuser, but that wasn’t even enough pain for you
Why would you tell me the stories where he laughed about the way I suffered; the answer must be because you love me
After all, that’s what I know of love; actually, you hadn’t hurt or torn me down nearly enough to love me, yet
It’s got to be something pretty big to out do the bat that was shattered on my back
Perhaps, somehow I made an involuntary movement and you took that as my throwing the gauntlet down
It’s your turn to etch pain into my soul, but it’s got to be something really painful to get through all the scar tissue around my heart
Do you think you can do it; do you have it within you to tear me down and rip me to shreds
I was mistaken, you did indeed have it within you to darken my heart
But, unlike all the other people that i’ve ever loved, I gave you the tools to hurt me
I trusted you, and that was my biggest mistake; I allowed myself to believe that I was lovable
Or maybe my biggest mistake, was thinking that for some reason my love was valuable
By this point in life I should’ve known that my love had no value, that in fact I had no value
When something is valuable it is treated with great care, steps are taken to make sure valuable things remain unbroken
Steps like a parent protecting a child when the other parent is hurting them; instead you were worried about who paid the bills
Bitch, I am the one who paid the bill

I’m the one that he broke the bat on, because I was trying to protect you

Now, you are somehow miraculously unable to remember any of the incidents of abuse that occurred under your watch

You even said that you were never scared of him until you left; it must’ve been someone else screaming for help that December morning
Don’t you see, my value decreased EVERY-TIME that you chose a man over me
You carved out the chunks of my heart every single time you promised to be there to protect me, but showed up late
It was easy for me to stay with a guy who would threaten to kill himself if I didn’t have sex with him, hell at least he had some feelings for me
It didn’t bother me at the time that I let him hurt me so that I’d have a place to stay; he wasn’t supposed to love me, you were
What did you think would happen to my soul; did you think i’d suddenly figure out how to love myself
I learned how to survive, that I’d make it through any abuse or hardship that was placed in my path
A fact that managed to seep into your pathetic brain, you’ve acknowledge my strength in overcoming the trials that I faced
That’s not completely true, perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that you’ve noticed my “strength” in the face of medical adversaries
I guess i should be thankful for that acknowledgment, lord knows you seem to have forgotten anything else that i did over the last 37 years
I don’t blame you, how could I…I was raised to believe everything bad that occurred was my fault
Did you even realize that as I cried at HIS funeral, I was crying because I’d realized that I was totally alone in the world now
I know, I’m fucked up
I was sad because a man who caused my PTSD is dead, and suddenly I realize that there is no longer anyone in my immediate family that loves me
The most perverse part of the situation is that even though HE beat the fuck out of me, deep down I knew HE loved me
I’ve been trained to believe that even the few fucked up moments of love from HIM, was better than to have no love at all
I sit here and all I can think of are the ways that the people that I loved and trusted the most, have betrayed me
My heart is filled with pain and sadness now, as I sit here pondering my marriage
For even he, was a participant in the scraping of my heart
I can’t get past the betrayal that occurred last year, at this point i don’t even know if it’s possible
I do know that: you hurt me, ruined both of my parental relationships, rejected me when I tried to discuss my desires to you, and betrayed me when you talked to my mom
I guess you must love me an awful lot; most of the other’s have only caused a crack in my heart
When you made your mark, you treated my heart like it was being swept up and battered in a tsunami
Guess what: I’M TIRED OF TRYING TO HANG ON TO A PIECE OF DRIFT WOOD WHILE KICKING MY FEET