It’s been tough this week, I don’t know why. The past month has seen me kicking ass all over the shop, this week I just want to cry and be held by him. I’m grieving. The malaise and apathy started about Wednesday last week, then it erupted upon finding a gig stick full of his stuff on late Friday. Stupidly I pried rather than deleted. Now I find myself openly weeping when I hear the Tindersticks. I’m listening to the Tindersticks and Cat Power and expecting not to cry? What fool am I? What fool misses a man who beats you, who belittles you, a man so angry that he made Malcolm Tucker look measured and a tirade would be sparked by a fallen tea towel or a sprout making good it’s escape from the chopping board. The content, not full of revelations of regret or empathy for me; more an angry, self pitying rant about why he was angry and why he would argue with people and in turn why he adored the vile bitch who messaged me hate and told me to stop writing about what I have been through. It made me hate him. I do hate him. I then spent some time looking at the photos of the beatings. I wanted to go back. Maybe I am the stupid, self destructive retard he convinced me I was. I cling to the cat. He lay in my arms. It felt good, but I still feel sad. I would like to get to the point where I don’t cry anymore. It felt so close and now it feels a long ways away again.