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A Cursed Heart's Diary

Short story By: CursedHeart
Romance


Finally, I have deemed it necessary for the world to see me clearly. Slowly, entries from my personal journal will be posted, an open invite to witness my Curse. Be gentle, my readers. This is my life.


Submitted:Jan 1, 2012    Reads: 5    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Entry #1

Walking away was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. People keep telling me that I have been abused; that he had controlled and changed me. They say that he stole the best parts of me.

Maybe all of that is true.

I can see it now in some ways. He was insecure and terified of losing me for a second time, so he played with my emotions, attaching the strings that eventually made me his puppet. I lost the ability to clearly see the line between what I wanted, and what he wanted me to want. Our relationship was driven by control, guilt, and pain.

But I loved him. I believe I still do.

Which is why I am writing about him instead of forgetting about him, like I should be doing. This is my own way of keeping him near me, and keeping all the emotions I felt for him alive, be they postive or negative. He belongs here, in these pages, so I can visit him and feel a passion so intense that it almost killed us both.

It wasn't always bad with him. We had some amazing times together, but now looking back, there were hints of his jealous nature along the way. He accused me of the most ridiculous things, like checking other guys out or cheating on him. They started out as playful jokes. Eventually, the comments became serious and hurtful. When I would confront him about them, he would say that it was all a joke, and then turn the whole thing around on me. It was my fault.

Everything was my fault.

That is how every fight went. He would say something mean, hurtful, or demeaning, and when I would call him out on it, he would turn it around to be my fault. I think I grew to believe something was wrong with me. Especially with the sex thing. That was the worst.

I have been traumatized regarding the idea of sex. Every passing I have had with it has been a struggle. He showed no pity, no understanding, for my bad expeirences. He expected me to be something I was not, just so I could please him, but how do you just ignore the scars of your past while they are being scratched at by someone you trust? I could not be what he wanted.

Oh! I could have sex with him, but it is always obvious when one person is not really "in to it". That one person was always me. I just had sex with him to keep him content, which did not really work out the way I had intended anway.

Nothing ever did with him. Even the break up did not go as I wanted it to. I expected him to hunt me down, to beg, to plead, to make promises I knew he could never keep. I knew he would stay up at night, possibly crying, because he never thought I would have the strength to walk away, no matter how bad he treated me. He underestimated me, just like I expected him to.

I did not, however, expect my own panicked, tearful, shock of a reaction. I flew through emotions so quick, an outsider would have thought I was bipolar. I could not even walk into the grocery store without bursting into tears. From anger, to relief, to the deepest, emptiest saddness that I have ever felt, I bounced back and forth like a pinball on speed.

I still rake my mind across the coals on a regular basis. I do not go twenty four hours without the pain taking over and my eyes pouring forth out a thousand tears. The only comfort I have is shopping, which I know is not at all healthy, Well, there is something else I take comfort in. I have begun day-dreaming about a mysteriousman who comes to rescue me from my heartache. A child like fairytale, maybe, but it helps me escape. I bought this journal to help me escape, but all I can write about is him.

He consumes, controls, and attacks everything I think, do, say, or feel. He is so deep inside me I fear that even if he releases me, I will never rid myself of the part of him he has left with me. I wil lnever stop hearing ihs voice when I talk to other men. I will never stop feeling his touch on m cheek when I am lying alone on the couch. I wil never stop hearing his laugh, or seeing his smile, or feeling his kiss, or whispering his name. I will never be able to let him go, and even if I could, I do not think he would leave willingly.

And I do not know how to make him.

TO BE CONTINUED





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