What is it about me?

Wait, let me add on to that. What is it about me that attracts people who either want to harm me or people who are just downright insane? Like, do I have some sort of giant target on my back, or some sort of sign that has in big bold letters, “Come hurt me”? I mean I can’t for the life of me figure this out.

Now let me explain further. I have been in dead in for a little under two months. Roughly 50 days if my estimate is correct, which fuck me it probably isn’t. In that short amount of time I have seemed to land into a plethora of trouble, anything spanning from being abducted, beaten, raped, stalked, or being traded for drugs, the the last one has only happened once so far, and yeah, I still hold a grudge about that even though that was really the least terrible thing that happened to me.

It’s like this town wants to push me to the brink, and no matter what I do, I keep getting into more and more trouble. Like I am a fly caught in a web and the more I struggle to get free, the more tangled I become. Each event that I file and lock away inside me is slowly revealing the cracks in me, my faults, and my shortcomings.

And it’s terrifying. Everything that I try so hard to suppress each day riots in my chest and leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth. The memories of things I tried to forget come flooding back. they keep me awake at night or plague my sleep with horrifying images. Images that become twisted in my head to show me not as the victim, but as a person perpetrating the crime against myself.

What am I going to do?

How can I fix what has been broken?

…

I can’t write anymore today. Perhaps I will try again later.