Master List.

You were smart in that you always kept up with my movements one sanctuary at a time; marking each hideout I’d been to off on a master list of sanctuaries for the lost and forsaken. You later told me that you stayed so close on my heels by looking for pancaked spider corpses on the walls of the places you searched; I don’t know if I would’ve thought to do that. You knew me better than I knew myself, at all times.

You found me on a Thursday morning before the sun came up; you didn’t take any chances, and you treated me like you would treat any other escapee who pissed you off and took you on a wild goose chase, wasting your time. When I regained consciousness, I was already back in your display case, all squeaky clean and dressed in a starch-stiffened outfit with a smile painted over my mouth in bright red ink. And… the game started over from the beginning for the millionth time.

More Letters to a Dead Man.

Dear Dead Man,
Perhaps I should have simply allowed you to do to our little girl, all that you did to me back then…maybe I should have been right in front of her every time you stomped me unconscious, sexually tormented my body, rearranged my facial features, gave me new temporary navy blue tattoos…
I guess after all the bullshit I endured to try and protect her from you and the effects of someone like you on another human being; it mattered not, in the end. If you were still alive and able, I would that you might find your way to where your now grown daughter has landed herself and let the wrath I lived with unleash itself amongst the animals who your little girl sees as worthy of her time and attention – worthy of her own life…one teetering so precariously on the ledge that it hurts my very spirit.
Where are those horrible back kicks, throat punches, jammed guns and fishing knives now Tough Guy?…when your own flesh and blood needs to be protected from guys just like you? After so much shit you spent your entire lifetime talking about protecting your daughters and how they’ll never have to be afraid of anyone…look at her now, you Fat-mouthed Dead Pig…she’s tenfold as bad off as I was at her age, when we were married…
I can almost even make the statement in honesty:
that you might have even somehow been a better creature than those who she has deemed worthy of herself…you might have managed to have a little teeny bit more humanity towards your victims…and, remember when I make this statement you useless fuck, that you cut my throat open in the end, when all was said and done…but you were somehow not as bad as the men who hurt my baby.

Cupid’s Misfire – I.

There was something about her:
the drag of her left leg as she strode by,
a pocket of heat in the breeze of her passing wake,

he just had to break her,
wanting to steal the twinkle from her eye,
badly desiring to watch her body writhe and shake,

he had no question in mind,
she carried a warrior’s aura that simply defied,
an stubborn, angry innocence that he became driven to take,

she was the one that he’d been waiting on,
the woman he’d been waiting to ruin his whole life,
nothing would please him more than see her body and spirit break.

Kicking.

If you could somehow –
only get a look at me now,
alive, with a surprise kick –
to my birthday number thirty-six;
bet you’d been sure you’d outlast –
the years of mine still slipping passed,
who could’ve known how it’d look –
at the final chapter of your big, bad book;
I don’t mean to convey this fact maliciously –
but, after all, you tried to steal the life from me,
so, you’ll excuse me – for recognizing the irony –
of one more birthday under this belt on me;
so many days filled with bad memories –
nights too afraid to close my eyes to sleep,
at last now, slowly but surely-you’re fading away –
while I trudge through towards next year’s birthday;
I’m not always happy by how my existence is defined –
but I never forget getting a second chance to be alive,
despite the trivial bullshit that keeps me up at night –
life is love – love is truth – and truth burns eternally bright.

About (the former) Me: A Prelude to the End.

About ME IN CAPTIVITY:

americano

I’m prefacing the final post in this section with this truthful and quite chopped description of myself as the Hostage to my ex-husband “The Ripper” AKA “Mr. Americano”; I am doing this as a means of prefacing the final event, in which I admittedly behaved in An antagonistic and depraved manner, resultant of the triggering event (also found in the final post of this section). I do not intend to try and justify any of my own actions or behaviors, nor downplay my own part in the chaotic lifestyle that led to my traumatic and violent attack; I simply want my readers to better understand my own state of mind and being during the events of my account.

I was a good wife; and, in all the days leading up to getting married to a Monster – I was a good girlfriend to him, hands down. I never strayed; I never acted like a drama queen or behaved jealously. I was submissive, by nature, when he got hold of me and reeled me tightly in on his line through the deceit of his “nice face”. I was happy with being “loved” by the man that I loved. And, boy did I love that Monster of a “man” for a chunk of time out of my life, prior to allowing myself to accept his irreparable and dangerous shortcomings as a human being. Even after handfuls of severe and bone-breaking beatings, I longed to understand him – to somehow heal him from his own horrid past. True story. I felt for him the same as I for everyone around me, for anyone who I love: TOTALLY AND UNDYINGLY. I would be lying if I claimed to hate this man, even now, when he is dead and gone and I should give “Good Riddance” and spit on his grave; I don’t. I can’t. I loved him once; I bore his child. Sacred things don’t dissipate, they just can’t.

My heart was as broken as my face when I actually began to swallow that pill – the reality of my situation and the man who held control over it all; it was a long and harrowing process for me to actually process the information on a conscious level, same as I believe it must be for any Domestic Hostage of a once adored and trusted, now lethally explosive husband. The proverbial Egg Shell description doesn’t even begin to describe the lifestyle of this embodiment of a “flash-frozen”, captive wife/girlfriend, etc…it took me over a year to actually see him for what he was: a Monster with no remorse or capacity for love or compassion; a Sadist and a vicious sexual dominant; the worst mistake that I ever made. The truly unspeakable things he did to me physically became paled in comparison to the ways that he violated and betrayed my heart until it seemed to have disappeared altogether.

I NEVER called the police. NOT ONE TIME.

I can’t explain myself on this matter besides to say: “See? I was afraid.”

Oddly enough, when the event happened and the police had come out because of a neighbor’s call – it made no difference anyway, he cut my throat in front of all of them…and ran away into the trees (just like that creepy fucker Elijah Woods portrays from Sin City).

And well, that was what I wanted to share in advance prior to posting the final piece of the section describing the traumatic and near-death end of my marriage to The Ripper, Boo’s father.

 

The Monster Has Passed

Image

Um……er, wow….

I found out around 1pm today that my ex-husband/ Boo’s father/my attempted murderer/long-time terrorist of my existence died yesterday in prison.

What does this information bring to my life?

Boo‘s life?

How am I feeling about this new development in the story of my near-death at this very man’s hand?

The very first thought to pop into my head (and I’m gonna be very honest here when I shouldn’t necessarily be):

He didn’t die, somebody killed him.

The guy was in his mid-forties and built like a tank made of solid steel; granted, he kept a quite unhealthy lifestyle and a notoriously lethal illicit-drug habit last I knew him, so who knows? I don’t feel happy about his death, nor was I overcome by any profound sensation of safety or revenge. My long-time employer Mr. Karma didn’t even poke his irony-stricken face out to say “hello”, oddly enough, when I heard the jolting news of the death of one of my life’s Demons; I never flit the thoughts I’d expected to think when or if this day landed in my lap.

I feel like if it’s  true that his heart did, indeed give out and he died of “natural causes”, that any of my readers who knows a hint about his and my own history together – might also then, share in my sense of weight and mass on this matter. It’s a simple scientific observation that under enough weight or pressure – any amount of mass can give way to crumbling.

I feel sad for his girls, mine included…but on the other hand I see this as a possible release for each of them from a subliminal grip he has managed to maintain through glorified memories and pathetic, rambling pleas to them from his cell. I feel relieved, I will admit. I don’t have to worry about some legislative dick-sucker letting one particular and very personal monster out early on good behavior ever again.

I think I need more time on this all some more…poor Boo…