This is me.

I am one emotionally-drained little blogger. Yesterday my spirit took a beatdown from every which direction. I took the dog for a hike to try to clear my head. At least HE had fun - it was too cold for the release I was looking for. After I thawed out and napped, I headed to a friend's house for fun. It was fun. Then the phone rang. Stab. Then it rang again. Stab. And once more. Stab. In the end, I just wanted to go home - to my room - to my one safe place. I couldn't go home and my frustration brought me to tears. I just layed on the floor and cried. I need to just cry long and hard for a few days and then, once again, pick up the pieces. Get back to fighting. Get back to smiling. Please keep inquiring minds at bay. If I knew what and why, this post wouldn't be the way it is. This is raw emotion here folks. I'm not clarifying anything. Thanks for your understanding. Posted by Picasa This is me. Brea. I am, who I am. Nothing more, just less. And less. And less. You want to be the pretty girl? Walk in my shoes. Be the object of lust. Let every touch hurt. Let every word lie. Cry. Every touch hurts. Every word lies. So many accidents. So many wounds. Sobbing. Let them take whatever they want. Feel stupid. Feel angry. Feel used. Say nothing! You want to be the pretty girl? Cry alone. Cry in his arms. It doesn't matter, you are still alone. Confusion. Poor pretty girl. Know what it is like, to wish his weight would crush your chest, to know he would not notice that you have ceased to breathe. Oh to end the aching in your chest! The question is in their eyes or on their lips, "Do you think you are better than me?" Don't answer. They never listen. You give. They take. And take. And take. What's the matter pretty girl? You know you like it. You know it feels good. You dirty girl. Let the same person hurt you. Over and over. Let them make you feel unimportant. Let your feelings be discounted or ignored. You are only a face, a body, a vagina. You are just a pretty girl. To be used. Settle for last place. Listen to the same excuses. Get used to these words, "I'm sorry for hurting you." You'll hear them, over and over. Empty words. The ripping and tearing is louder than your heartbeat. What you think and feel is not important. Learn to suppress it pretty girl. Keep smiling. There is no one to hold you when your body shakes with such uncontrollable violence that the thoughts within your head begin to fall out of your mouth - no one to collect those words and return them to their hiding place before someone else sees them - for there are thoughts and emotions in those words: heartache and pain - what if the world hears those words and therefore realizes that this smile is only a mask for a sadness that even these words spilled in agony can not express? My smile has hidden so much pain, I dare not frown. Today on 100 Things: An Easy One