You kicked in my self-image, bruised my concept of love, injured my ability to ever be in a healthy relationship again, and even physically hit me that one time.
And I just so easily fall into that role of the battered wife. I long for those times when you'd stroke me and call me things like Angel and Kitten, and I'd feel like I meant the world...
Even when you shoved me down in the mud, you'd pick me back up and place me back on my pedestal. I no longer have someone to help me out of the mud that I've been left in, while you ran off with yet another girl to play your fucked-up game with. And in the last six months, my muscles have atrophied, and I've been trying so hard to lift my face out of this mud to just see some light and gasp a breath of air.
But who would want to associate with a weak, bruised, muddy, dependent shell of a person?