The Box

I have a box

It is filled with years of trying to recover

years of hatred and pain, memories, receipts, etc. etc.

police reports, stalking logs, other information, ip addresses.

I took this to the prosecuting attorney’s office, as directed, as I have been directed for years to do.

So I did.

I just emptied that box.

and have placed it in the shredder.

The pinterest stalker Jeremy smith and his bondage comments telling me it is my Jrb to be a submissive.

Her, the sister’s messages, the aunts, the biased opinions and hate-filled statements

The love notes from a previous lover, the tear stained letter he wrote when he was going to kill himself. I remember going, Fuck, he has no idea how I loved him, but it was never enough, and  never was enough.  Where did that apologetic, warm heart go? Where did that compassionate part of him go?

And how did that effect me so long? The loss of the 401 K, the bankruptcy, the beat up car, the getting raped and screened fro human trafficking by thugs, the living out of a car with a phone, for almost a year afterwards. And the echos in my mind of all the things he said, I had trusted him with all my heart, I had trusted him with my life, literally, and I almost died.

I remember that pain, starving, sweating, thirsty, sitting in the heat of my car, begging god, begging everyone, jsut love me again. Why is it so hard? Give me a safe place to heal. Be the change in the world you preach you are………..nothing.

the police reports from the rape, the documents and photos.

Then the second abuser/boyfriend. The one that said he would help me. But only was an abuser.

His hate-filled messages and phone calls.

My pamphlets to recover from rape, abuse, how to heal myself, how to get help, in Texas, in Arkansas.

My notes of recovery, those I’m keeping, I’m not throwing them away like before. I healed from abuse of one family, only to heal from the abuse of my replacement family, in the arms of my old family. There is a distance and detachment, healthy boundaries are always put into place, and their is a new found compassion and understanding. But trust. That will take some time. I’ll stick with god over people now. People are fickle.

But the rest, it will burn, in a pile, with vervain leaves, clover, sandlewood, and black pepper, and six thieves vinegar, a black candle, no curse.

After that an invocation to release this toxic energy to the universe to handle, and replace the negative with positive, to heal, to restore, to mend the relationships and bless all involved. Cause I can’t spend anymore time on progressing hatred. I am myself again, and a newer version of myself.

And my letter to let it all go to the universe, and the ritual to restore with love, rose petals, lavendar, and pink, white and red candles.

It is spring, and it is time for a new life, a new way to live, besides keeping these tokens, these papers, these memories of a bad time that has occured.

Now I have copies of it on my computer. Scanned copies of my letters sent requesting my property, all of it. My part, their part, all parts, Zipped into a file marked Crime Victim.

And right above that, Crime Survivor. And all the positive things I need to not forget, I matter, I may not matter to those people, and they want/desire to see me fail, but I am worthy, and I deserve love.

I am so much more than what these people say I am, who they think I am. They are more than what I even have to say.

But like with the other lover, who has hurt several people since me, it’s not me, it’s him.

Regardless.

I will be free, and I will release the box of pandora, filled with famine, fear, pain, anger, and suffering.

 

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