jealous peace

it is easy to look back now and clearly see that undoing myself from the mess that my partners have dragged me through has taken years longer than the time I was with them to recover from. And not even partners. Take a love struck deranged obsessive man from my high school who decided to interrupt my life. I guess it started at the Mardi Gras; one of our reunions party weeks with others from our Dutch school— we spent one night together which maybe he remembers different than I do but (which also revealed a mystery about him to me that emphasized this questionable provoking detail)—this was the basis of what became his obsession with me (but I didn’t know of) and what led to what happened four years ago

That was only two years. Only two years. Of my life. Just two. And it was not even a relationship. 

What the fuck was that? —bait and switch-date rape is what I’d call it, but there’s one thing and I never mentioned it because it would be tasteless to write of it here but one major flaw about him that I knew from our time in New Orleans. But I won’t say it here. But this was part of his sickness in regards to me, there was something deeply wrong with him and I am sure his family doesn’t even know. Which I think is why things were as crazy as it was there and must be why he behaved as he did and how he chose to do what he did —first saying one thing then trapping me when it was too late because then he thought I’d never tell anyway. Mostly he got away with behavior like that until me

I know I didn’t process that. So busy with where I escaped into which was itself another bad trap —

 two years 

detained on others agendas 

In limbo. Searching for a way out of there. If only I’d been able to get my hands fixed by the specialist back in Detroit —no thanks to being cut the week of the surgery by my then husband; could he not have waited one week? Then I’d have my own insurance because then I’d be able to get a real job again. These little things that most people scream about. But I don’t scream. And who is listening?

Two years in Maryland I could have skipped. But the aftermath? The recovery…. is still in the process —two wasted years 

Like I got excess time to kill never mind I had my own dreams. Which now looking back must have been only to stay alive to distract me from …. the morass 

so why, I try to see 

why would I want to give up my self for anybody and I guess still this is the part that bores …

I guess was hoping for a better distraction….and so I don’t care to defend why I don’t feel like being detained again 

it’s tediously boring —how much time they take up.of me.i don’t care, except I should, but why I don’t know? until maybe it’s funny that I don’t care.why is it funny?because —that’s when they just seem to chase more so it’s stupid and sad so it’s funny, so I guess why not laugh or slam my head in the wall