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Two Years Wasted on a Man

A journal following one woman's attempt to end a passionate but emotionally abusive relationship with another artist.

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Location: United States

I make my living by crystalizing a slice of time in digital frames. I raise my children with as much joy and patience as I can muster. I write, often with graphic language and the bitter irony that comes from making many life-altering mistakes.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

The will to change your life often begins at 3 a.m

If he had been pills or powder or an injection, I could have started a 12-step program to kick him.

If he had hit me or yelled at me or knocked me to the floor, I could have moved to a shelter.

If I had been drinking him, a burning liquid scalding my throat and searing my belly, I could have called a hotline and received a mentor to walk me through recovery.

But he was none of these. He was my lover, my passionate partner, a gifted writer who could make words pierce my psyche, inspiring an addiction with the power to make me bleed, literally bleed, and rise up from the white tile flecked with crimson to make me want to feel it again, forsaking my own life.

I begin this blog on the night I decided I had to end this relationship or it would kill me.

1 Comments:

Blogger Jennifer said...

Geez, I have encountered such would-be sadists on the Internet. Hit em with a left and right -- don't play along with their game. Linguistic/text based S&M is an all too predictable formula. One writer I know who uses it excessively and ubiquitously is Wilber Smith (the African pulp fiction writer). I used to love his stuff when I was 14, but now the literary mechanism upon which he over-relies has become too evident. Read Erich Fromm's Escape from Freedom to see the exposed rotars of this particular dynamic..............

4:45 PM  

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