—-The first step toward success is taken when you refuse to be a captive of the environment in which you first find yourself—-Mark Caine
It’s been 461 days since your assassination.
461 days since the monster stopped that beautiful heart from flowing into the universe.
And not a day goes by—a night—a moment—a second…
That I don’t think about you, cry over you, love you. love you. love you.
Not. One. Solitary. Day.
I still don’t know how I manage to get out of bed, put on clothes, brush my hair, apply mascara.
All those meaningless, empty, insignificant tasks.
Some days I don’t.
Some days I just lay in bed watching the ceiling fan revolve like a revolting reminder of the past.
I remember the monster
sitting stalking outside our house for hours on end waiting for you to get home from your dates.
God, how I wish I would have confronted him then. Gone outside and shouted with all my might…. “Why don’t you leave her alone, you bastard? Why don’t you fucking leave her alone?”
But I didn’t.
And he never left after that.
He hung around like a debilitating disease.
That was the beginning. I know that now.
The beginning of the manipulation, control, molding, forming, shaping.
You were his pretty porcelain doll.
His lovely red-cheeked Lolita.
I never knew he’d turn out to be the Devil…
in the end.
I never knew he’d kill me, too.
I wish I knew then what I know now.
I wish I could turn back time…
….walk out to his brown Camero and scream and yell and pound my fists on the hood.
“She doesn’t want you. She doesn’t need you. Go home. You asshole. You pathetic bastard. Go home. And never come back! ”
He never left.
And when he finally did,
he took you with him.
My angel, sister, best friend, & soul mate was murdered 461 days ago by Mike Peterson. The mourning & missing never ends.
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Top 23 signs of an abusive relationship.