Nails. Chalkboard. 

This day is dragging by. Slowly…deliberately. Every fucking second takes another bite of my desire to anything other than sleep. Everywhere I look, I see him…hear him…feel him just behind me. There is no escaping this. Him. 

God, I never knew it would hurt so much to lose someone who made my life a living Hell. It does not make any sense to me. I believe that death is natural and normal. I believe it’s both an ending and a beginning. I believe his passing was an act of God’s mercy, considering what he’d become, personally, coupled with failing health. I cannot count the times I’d wished him dead. I always knew that death would be the only thing that could separate us. Towards his end, I was certain that I would be dispatched long before him. And, I was certain that it would be at his hand. The pills were making him crazy…brooding and constantly angry with me. 

It feels strange to write of him this way. I kept his secrets for decades, as some had become my own. Nobody that knows me would ever put my face on the woman I’d often written about in years gone by. Even I have trouble reading old journals and connecting the two of us. I think I’m blessed with a coping mechanism that I learned early in life. I’m also cursed with a ridiculous sense that I must take full responsibility for what I allow. An innocent victim is quite the rare find. Even within these walls that surround me. 

The evening sun is taking a seat a bit lower in the sky. It won’t be too long before dark comes ’round. I love the night. My name means darkness. In one language, it means the exact moment when day turns to night. That’s fitting. In some ways, I’ve lived a lifetime in that moment. 

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