When I was with you I was scared most of the time. Of you, of the drugs, of who I was turning in to. We fought all the time. You embarrassed me in front of your friends. You kept me from my friends. I was alone and abused.
No one knows, not really. The day you actually hit me I wanted to die. I thought I loved you.
I actually thought that.
Its been six months now. I’m free. I have friends who love me. I’m alive.
I guess all I want to say is this: fuck you.