January 17th, Year 20

It is almost as if my own actions are beyond my control. My own life has become a book I despise, but cannot edit and alter. It has been written without my approval. I am a character with no creative input. It is a bad story, relying solely on aggressive plots, to get a point across. And what is that point, or what does it matter when nothing turns out the way I would like. Perhaps, it is better that way. I am not wise, and I am not smart. It is blatantly obvious, when I see everything that has taken place in two years time. No, I fool no one. My life has always lacked order. In this chaos, there are no beautiful lines.

I have plummeted to the depths. The fall has broken every bone, and I do not care to heal them.

Last night, feeling on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I asked Robert to take me to the mental health clinic in the morning. I had enough with the intrusive thoughts, all seeming to possess an evil that threatened to become real. I paced back and forth, attempting to calm myself down. I saw a look of fear in his eyes. He was in too deep, wishing he could retreat, leaving me to drown on my own. I knew it then, or I should have. That man was never mine, never a friend, and barely my lover. And it is a reasonable thing, a logical thing, a convenient thing, to run from someone whose mind is collapsing. Still, when he promised to be there in the morning, I believed him. Even as he chose to leave my side to get rest, as I tightened my grip on the few things that made sense, feeling them pulling on me to escape some kind of emotional hurricane. I believed him.

Morning came, Robert did not. Sometime in the evening, I got a hold of him. He was out drinking with his friends. It was the laughter I heard through the line, it was their joy in contrast to my misery, that lit the fire. I got in my car, and drove to the location he was at, only to drive back home without seeing him.

There, in the parking lot, hidden by the dark with clenched fists and prepared speech, I saw myself for the first time in two years, and hated what I had become. All brutality and co-dependence. There was nothing left to do, but officially end our relationship, once and for all. The turn had been made, and it was time to follow through to the end. After a phone call in which he made pledges, followed by his guttural and angry screams, it was done.

January 17th, Year 20

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