And so I ran to my kitchen window, crying your name. Calling out to you, as if you'd hear me. But you never came.

And maybe I suffered so much so that one day you could learn to let someone love you like I did, or like I tried.

Because when you sleep in the same bed with someone for so long, you never think that one day you'll wake up, and his hands are around your throat, squeezing your life out. All I have to live with now are the memories.

You tell me you can't always get what you want, but tell me what it is that I DO have?

My fed up family, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, my drug abuse, fear, guilt, an ounce of what's left of my motivation, the dust and debris of what I once was. Because I'm not depressed anymore, they stopped calling it that a long time ago, I'm a fucking trauma victim now. Haha. Haven't once been to war or killed a man, but that doesn't stop the PTSD. The only way to stop it is to overcome the thoughts. But it's already so difficult when I have already so much on my plate. Because my whole life all I wanted to do was make my mother happy, let her be proud of me when I showed her my diploma. But instead all I've gotten out of it were two rapes, drug abuse, a shit ton of debt, and a bunch of court hearings to see my exboyfriend who almost killed me. Remembering him on top of me with his hands around my neck, what it was like when he kissed me, and how he made me feel when he told me he loved me. This, my friends, is all mine.