In my notebooks my writings are the ONLY place I can be COMPLETELY open. The pen and paper have no judgement, no vote, it simply receives my truth and allows me to turn the page.
I have TREMENDOUS amounts of remorse for the violence I caused, both planned and spontaneous, but I think what brings me the most sorrow is that I’ve learned to justify this behavior. I ALWAYS find a reason, a cause, the need to stuff this savage behavior into a compartment I can ALWAYS use.
With this awareness comes days sometimes weeks where I have to avoid looking into a mirror, my self hate is so deep, so palpable I fear I’ll lunge at my own image. Shatter the glass and cut myself with shards of broken reflection.
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