Later on, I realized she'd been raped, but I assume she got what she deserved, since she's repeatedly forced me into situations where it happened to me too. Her biggest dissapointment in life is , "she got nothing out of being a "mother." I'm not sorry the thrill of destroying me over and over hasn't worked out. SHE CAN ROT IN HELL, just as she does in "life."
Somehow, I knew "God is the father of the fatherless" long before I ever picked up the bible that used to steer my life-I've lost hope I'll ever be able to engage in any routines again; however, it makes me sad to have lost all the bibles I'd loved, then all the glasses that helped me see; now, I'm losing my eyes. OH FUCKING WELL.
Why should I?
The only thing I care about anymore is when the fuck I'll be free of this tortured breath. My God. I HATE. BEING. ALIVE.
Someday, I might succeed in my last AND ONLY DREAM: SUICIDE.
For now, I'm stuck flitting from horrible situation to horrible situation without enough money to eat or take the bus, while anyone who COULD AND SHOULD HELP, simply WON'T. I didn''t choose this life. I thought I'd done what someone is supposed to do to be successful. I wish I went to Europe, like my way blessed brother did. I wasted my time, money and life on a useless degree from Emerson College that was stolen by junkies on Daytona Beach the night after Cuntessa stole my almost life, right along with Tolstoy's ashes and all of my most precious belongings. Oh the Fuck well.
Nobody ever cared, why should I?
The only thing that had carried me through my WRETCHED existence was my faith. I believed in God so much, I was baptized twice. I preached his love to everyone I ever met. When I was allowed to see, I let his word shape all of my decisions. When I realized I'd never be married, I had "God' tattooed on my ring finger.
Then, I got sick with an infection that began with a bump on my thumb, then quickly spread throughout my entire body, which was ALMOST HEALED AFTER FOUR YEARS OF DILLIGENCE NOW OUT THE WINDOW. FUCK YOU CUNTESSA! It's a fungs. It's eaten my skin, nails, organs, eyes, and ability to do a fucking thing, besides BEG FOR DEATH.
I was ALMOST ALL BETTER. Now, I'm trapped in a schizophrenic's spare bedroom, where I sleep on the floor and pray he won't be home to berate me with opinions he creates, just like everyone, merely because I'm homeless-I must be a "DRUG ADDICT," WHORE, LAZY, WORTHLESS..."
Not quite, but the proof is in the photos of the life I'll never have again. I can look at them as often as I can my "repulsive" reflection:. NEVER.
FUCK YOU CUNTESSA.
The ONLY GOOD THAT CAME OUT OF MEETING THIS PREDATOR WAS HIM TELLING ME, "It was the needle, not God" that me sick. Just like everything I'd encountered in Trashville, it wasn't sanitary.
I'd struggled for years with why my life was totally ripped apart after I got baptised. Then, it seemed, God made me UGLY AFTER I MARRIED HIM.
Now, I know it wasn't God.
GOD IS IN CONTROL AND HE LET THIS LIFE BE.
A series of ALMOSTS.
And. FUCK HIM.
I want to die. PLEASE.