A story of escapism gone to massive lengths, and why I’ve never been better off without it.
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I’m tired of being screamed at for things I never did. I’m tired of being told to ‘shut up’ while you tell me ‘what I really think.’ I’m sick of there being no right answer. I am sick of being told that I don’t feel love, that friends I love are invalid, being called names, being beaten on the street, and forced to spend one of my few days off watching you sleep in your house. I’m sick of being forced to beg not to lose you.
They opened their laptop, opened a new Word document, and began to type. “[April], If you are reading this, I’m breaking up with you, and blocking you on all accounts.”
That, containing a heavy reference to suicide, caused my mind to fold over in on itself and open up some dark neural pathways that led to only poor decisions. I screenshot this and sent this to Aberle, so that the trauma-induced panic could now bombard the system through two sources,
Aberle, then, out of the worry of his bleeding-heart Cancer Moon, did precisely what I told him we must not do.
He told Ash that March was abusive.
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