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…and I think I’m dying.
I think I’m trying to kill myself with my own memories—with words. I opened the floodgates on my nastiest sewers and now I’m drowning. I’m drowning in thirty-seven years of my own piss and shit and vomit. Then another flood gate opens and I swallow mouthfuls of other people’s piss and shit and vomit. It’s endless. I’m losing my breath.
I remember another beating every day. I remember being hit with belts. I remember being hit with metal colander spoons. I had welts on my leg for weeks. I remember being hit in the head with a fork.
The blood was spraying from my head in spurts. I remember.
I remember. My muscles convulse with fear. I remember. I’m paralyzed. I’m screaming. I remember it all. I feel the beatings again and start weeping. My muscles are nauseous; emotion is spattered on all of my walls.
Its finally coming out. The pain and the fear and the rage—all of it is coming up at once. It’s disgusting.
Lara, Dawn, Rae, anyone, please grab me. I’m sinking. I can’t tread though this muck much longer. I’m so fucking exhausted.
I think I’m dying of my own poison.
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