When Jack A. punished me for writing about how much I hated him… I left out a piece in my story.  Either I forgot to include it or just plain blanked it out, I don’t know.  After he accosted me with the razor strap, he picked up my journals and chunked them across the room as hard as he could and then looked back at me.  I remember I was standing up because the backs of my legs were torn and bleeding.

He was yelling at me:

If I ever catch you keeping a journal again…

He leaned in and whispered:

I can promise that you won’t see the light of another day.

And I believed him.  I know in my heart that he meant it.  I believe that if he could have gotten away with it, without getting caught or being associated with it, he would have done it.  From the time that he told me to never keep a journal again, I didn’t until I was moved out of the house.

And this blog is probably the most that I’ve ever been consistent with my writing.

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