The box is my story. I love my story. I own it.
The box can be transformed into joy. The box is my story.
Almost two months after NY
I wrote this in a long document. Now it’s all here in one place. Horror unleashed. The hell and grime. May 2024 I leave her. I leave her for making me feel like shit in New York. I cried with diarrhea in every toilet. I braced myself to stop eating because her abuse won’t stop.then she got in a fist fight and I froze. I kept freezing… “ are you just going to stand there???” Yeah… I’m always doing something to piss her off. So then I hide. She hurts me and she gets mad at me crying and being quiet. Why aren’t you having a good time? She picks on everything about me I cant change, my eyesight, my crooked legs. My professional decisions, my friends, my son, My choice to be financially independent and free. I never thought that was a bad thing… I’m not productive and busy all the time by choice. I love peace and order and freedom to choose my time. And? I am not a loser. I pay all my bills. I write and flow and care and love and she doesn’t care enough to really know me. To re...
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