where was i:
thats right. the beginning of being hung. ham strung hung. done. dung done.
fucked … in other words. the beginning of letting ones self be fucked over.
Indignantly, I might add.
any who …
fight one, lead to a steady decline … in confidence … just a little chip at first.
enough to matter.
then came the overbearing confidence … in him. known as a shift in power. politely known as a shift in balance. a shift none the less.
‘whats that green shit you drink … (not a question)
‘why are you such a drama queen … (also not a question)
‘sensitive? just an anal fucker … (also not a question)’
as an analytic, pondering on a response, i thought discussion was what was being called for. a thrashing out of the issues … to get to the bottom of possible exuding aggressive behaviours.
and then a twitch.
what if he’s right. what if i am. i am a bit. is that why? is that why i’ve been battling for so long, trying to be heard? is that why? is it?
self-reflection. cool. but not so cool.
and another little bit of me chipped off.
not only did i let the conceited aggressive criticism hit my surface … i also let it sink in. muddy the waters. sink further.
remove some more confidence.
and as i filled in the job application … the job of my dreams i thought. that i had studied 5 years for …
i wondered … could i really do this? what if he’s actually right … that i am not what i think i am. that i am a loser.
it would follow.
i should have stopped it there.
but once i’ve started something, i make sure i see it through, goddammit.
and as my insides hollowed out just a little bit more, and my grip on reality lessened, and my daughters well being seemed to be over ridden by a looming sook who wanted everything … now …
i started to re-neg.