You think you can just keep on doing it, don't you. You just don't realise how hot I am seething inside. You jut keep at it, pounding away at my emotions. I would much rather just be hit physically. You do it to keep me under your control, but guess what? You will never truly control me. It hurts, yes, and sometimes it fucks me up, but one day I'll be GONE. You might not even realize it for a few days, maybe a week or so, but eventually, you will. And then you'll see just how much I do for you. How much you took for granted. All you had to do was say a little thank you every now and then, now is that so hard?
But you don't learn.
Can't teach an old dog new tricks, baby.
But you'll see. One day.

You know what? I am not happy. I don't know why I bother.
I quit trying at work because it doesn't get me anywhere. The boss doesn't notice. He just notices if I fuck something up. And that hurts. So guess who got the Assistant Manager position? Not I, said the cat. Nope. It's a mother-fucking PART-TIMER. A part-timer that constantly comes to work drunk and high. And he doesn't have to even do anything different. But he has the title, while I do the ass man's JOB. So the boss made up a bullshit position for me. Administrative assistant. Meaning I don't get a raise, I just do the paperwork. And cover all the extra shifts. And make sure things go smoothly. HELLO??? Shouldn't the ASSISTANT MANAGER be doing these things??? Inventory, Payroll, all that????
I never even hear a thank you.
I'm pissed. And hurt.
And unhappy.
I want to quit, say fuck it all and move to Florida.

She's fat.
Oh so fat.
You might know who I'm talking about; you might not.
But I know and that's what matters.
I want to hurt her so bad. Because she's hurt me.
I hate her sometimes. I look at her and see the dark circles around her eyes. How she's broken out. How her hair is greasy. Ewww.
Just cut the flesh right off her bones.
Gross.

What would it be like to just let that monster loose?
Just to let her rip through everyone who has ever hurt me?
Just be the next "Jack the Ripper" or something of the sort?
I will fucking kill you.





But only in my mind.
But I still hate you.
You know what, that's how much I hate you. Enough to let you live.
You stupid mother fucker.
Now you suffer the long slow painful death of life.
I hope your nose rots off.

I've moved.
And I have to say that I am beyond happy where I am. I haven't really needed this therapy journal.
But I came by the house to get more of my shit, and I think it was the house depressing me. So I'm burning it down.

And I'm burning a certain person WITH the house. No names.
I've stitched her fat mouth shut, seeing as she can't keep it shut herself. (it's just her mouth that's fat. I'm quoting a friend here, she's a  "skinny fucking whore")

So she's asleep upstairs, drunk as always and probably tripping or whatever it is you do on kolonapin or whatever it may be.
Seeing as she's full of alcohol and probably spilled it all over herself too, there's no need to dump kerosene on her.

so I soak the stairs with gas, pour it in the toilets, splash the walls, soak the couch, all of that.
Well, I'm not about to lose my Zippo over this stupid place, so instead I light a match and casually toss it into the house, walking away in a sexy blaze, like they always seem to do in movies.

You can't imagine how good it feels.

Oh, my, are those blood-curdling screams? HAHAHA!!!



And the moral of this fantasy?
Don't fuck with me. Don't TALK about me behind my back. I like playing with fire, and I know how to do it RIGHT.
And skinny fucking whore WILL get theirs.


"You get what you get, until you're through with mine"

I'm not going  to write about Joe this time.
This time, I'm taking revenge on a part of myself that I just can't seem to get rid of.
It's a part of so many people, people that stay silent about it and suffer endlessly. A part that CANNOT be 'cured'.
She'll pretend to be your friend, only wanting 'what's best for you' and worm her way into your soul and rot you from the inside.
She makes you sick, mentally and physically and someone that has never dealt with her will not understand why she has so much control.
"yeah fatass, eat that doughnut. Matter of fact, why don't you eat all 12."
"You don't deserve this or that person."
"Bones are pretty."
"You deserve to hurt."
This girl is the embodiment of pain. She makes you hurt yourself, makes you starve yourself, or throw everything up.
I've tried to kill her, but she keeps coming back. SO. Instead of trying to kill her all at once, I'm breaking her apart and burying her one piece at a time.
I've thrown away every razor I have that's not actually for shaving my legs or whatever.
I can feel myself holding her underwater, watching the bubbles rise to the surface.
Drown, drown, drown...
Well, she's putting up a good fight. For all the cutting and bleeding she made me do, it seems like she didn't really want to die.
It sounds wierd, but it makes me a little sad. This is a part of me I'm killing, and I can feel her dying inside me.
But I have to.
I'm not letting her back up for air, she has to die.
I can hear her talking about how all she ever did was try to help. I know it's true, but she still has to go.
She won't stop her babbling, barely understandable through her sobs. "I helped you through everything, you need me..."
No. I don't need you anymore. I'm an adult now. Look at what you did to me, what we did to me. Look at my arms, my legs.
I'm a f*cking ZEBRA.
The last bubble pops, but I know she isn't truly dead, she never will be.
I drag her from the water and bury her, packing the dirt tightly and lay a rose on her grave.
And there she'll wait, until she sees an opportunity to rise, but I'll be ready for her.
I hate to say it but I love her.
Perhaps the revenge is not on HER, but from her on ME, for I can already feel the emptiness inside me.
Ana and Mia have lost their sister and I can feel them screaming inside me.
Goodbye my love, goodbye.

Once apon a time there was a girl. Her name isn't important. She wasn't tall, she wasn't skinny, and people didn't interest her much. 
One day she decided she'd take revenge on all who did her wrong.
She began with a man. He's dead now, so we'll just go ahead and use his real name. 
Cecil McDaniel. 
http://community.dps.state.al.us/Pages/wfSexOffenderFlyer.aspx?ID=65c82169-6e5c-41cb-bd56-c399fc26fa80
The link above is to the Alabama Sex Offender Website, Cecil McDaniel's page.
The Five year old he "subjected... to sexual contact" would now be about 19 years old. We have no idea whether this person is still alive, molestation really f*cks with your head.
That is not the girl of this story, though. This girl we do know is still alive.
Cecil McDaniel lived in the middle of the ghetto, in the middle of the block. There was always the laughter of children, amid the screams, gunshots, what-have-you. 
Our girl was passing through this part of town one day, and suddenly she had the idea.
He'd pay. He'd pay for the children he f*cked, the women he hit, and for trying to take advantage of her a few years back.
She felt so betrayed. She could remember, years and years back, when she wasn't more than four years old, the man had been her favorite uncle, the one who'd pick her up and set her on top of the hood of his car when noone else would pay attention to her. And to think, what he did... she felt the anger well up inside.
Well... she smiled, an angry, evil smile that for some reason seemed to fit perfectly on her doll-like face. If he wants to f*ck kids... oh, he'll get his.
She pulled up to his house, the house that had been there forever, as far as she could remember. It had belonged to her great-grandmother, but HE lived in it now.
She didn't bother to knock, just walked right in. The painting of Jesus and Sheep still hung by the door. F*cking obscene. 
She swatted it off the wall.
She slowly walked through the house, an odd smell wafting though the air. Roaches scattered when she turned on the kitchen light. Shaking her head in disgust, she moved to the bedrooms. 
She smiled to herself when she heard his snoring through the bedroom door. She pushed it open and made her way to his bedside. 
She had planned to torture him, tie him down, tease him, maybe cut off his d!ck and shove it up his @ss or something of the sort, but staring down at him, she just wanted him dead and gone.
But first, she wanted him awake, wanted him to know he was dying.
She climbed on top of him, straddling the sorry son of a b!tch. He awoke with a start and as his vision cleared he licked his lips. He must have thought he was still dreaming because he put his hands on her hips.
She laughed. What hot young chick would want him? Or who at all, for that matter?!
"Maybe you don't remember me. I've grown a few years since you last saw me. I must have been...what... 15? That's six years."
She suddenly had to end it. NOW. She began to choke him. "Oh, Uncle Cecil..." She shook her head with a wry smile on her face. "You are a child molester." She squeezed his neck harder at every word. "They should have kept you in prison."
As he drew his dying breath she shoved her thumbs into his eye sockets.
As a finishing touch she picked up a syringe off the floor and shoved it into his arm. 
"Let's see you push that heroine now, mother f*cker."
As she stepped into her car, she saw a young girl looking at her forlornly. She smiled. "He'll never hurt you again. He was a bad man, but now he's gone."
The little girl smiled and waved at her as she drove off.

The first one is always the worst, BUT writers are their own worst critics.
NEXT time, We're bringing down a deadbeat 'father' who up and disowned his own one year old son because the baby's mother didn't want to date him. Since he's still alive (the father) I can't use his name. We'll just call him HIGH SCHOOL DROPOUT DEADBEAT FATHER FAKE @SS WICCAN WANNABE. Or for short, we'll just call him Joe.