After reading this:
I was compelled to write this:
This was difficult to read and I'll admit I skimmed through most
of it. The desolation and despair of being trapped with a psycho,
even temporarily and from a safety buffer as writer/reader, is
one thing to endure in real life, but on a voluntary basis (by
reading) it is nearly intolerable, especially when I cannot
relate to the protagonist.
Not in the abused and victimized sense, mind you, because I am
well versed in abusive relationships, starting with a brother, a
mother, an uncle, and an offspring's parent. The theme and
cyclical pattern of abuse is the ONLY message I could relate to.
However, while I can acknowledge the near relentless pursuit of
self-preservation it takes to edure/escape these kinds of people,
it's the inability of the protagonist to be able to do
so. Simply put; I can't take or accept it.
I'm left full of hatred towards my abusers after reading this.
murderous hatred. And if I were to stroll down my past to write
out my memoirs I would be tempted to get from it only one outcome
which would be to beg the question: why didnt I murder them when
I had them in my grasp.
As it would appear I am on the other end of the spectrum as far
as "victims" go. I have no sympathy for "mental problems" of this
magnitude. No sympathy whatsoever. 'Having been abused' as the
basis for an abusers propensity to seek out abuse victims tends
to nullify all justification for mental strife on the matter.
Seeing as how I'm an "abuse victim", yet not abusive, that logic
comes crashing down on its knees, from my point of view.
Basically, you either let it consume you or you defeat its power.
I realize the brain and physiology have more to do with this
ability than a person's will, much like one person's probability
to be alcoholic vs another's, and I am ever thankful I happen to
be a version of human being capable of defeating abuse's power
rather than one susceptible to succumbing.
In a psychological sense, I believe I'd be wedged into the mental
status category of 'self hate'; Hating the victims of abuse
simply for being victims, as a manifestation of my hatred for
being a "victim" myself
Except I DONT feel like a victim. Nor do I hate them (the
victims). Thats the fallacy and pitfall of psychology.
I simply dont relate to the helplessness of "victims". I feel
like a survivor.
There are two kinds of survival. The mortality kind: You're
either breating or you aren't, and if you aren't then you are
dead and thus, not a survivor.
And the Mental kind: You're alive in the psiological sense, but
all shred of normalcy is gone. You either presever your mental
health by removing or preventing the threat, or you sit back and
allow the threat to consume you for the sole purpose of surviving
I am not a sit-back kind of survivor.
I was presented with a "puzzle", so to speak, an inigma in human
form that is an abuser, and I found my way out of that puzzle the
moment I realized a solution was necessary to escape. And while I
walked right into the next, similar, puzzle that presented
itself, next on my survival agenda was to realize that I was
susceptible to that outcome because of familiarity. i.e. picking
out the same kind of people because I was familiar with their
behavior, even though it wasnt the relationship I desired.
Once I recognized the puzzle, I found myself in the increasingly
predictable position of having to exit it. Some exits were more
complicated than others. But all abusers left me with the
resolute notion that I hated puzzles until eventually, when a
"puzzle" presented itself, the recognition was easier and easier
to come by and I learned to confront and prevent the cycle from
repeating. Each practice run was easier and easier. As anytime
one learns from their mistakes, it should be.
I cant relate to people who dont recognize patterns.I cannot
relate to the position of being trapped.
Reading this leaves me with the same anger and desperation of
being trapped in inescapable hindsight Of seeing all the flags,
all the warnings, all the missed opportunities, and yet sitting
idly by as something slipped through my fingers that I can never
replace. Like ruined childhood. Like wasted youth. Like
The fact that you married each other makes me despise marriage.
It makes me despise parents for not raising more aware children.
It makes me despise religion for being full of shit and raking in
countless followers who will crumble under false hope. It makes
me despise life.
Fuck this bitch. She should be disposed of. I dont care why she
is the way she is. Whats left is poison in the well. God forbid
there is ever offspring. God forbid there is ever a child who
must endure her as their sole existence.
It's one thing for you to have had this as the first experience
of having a girlfriend. But it is absolutely intolerable to
imagine a child enduring this woman, and for it to be their first
and only experience at existing.
~completely disturbed and angry.