Today I was thinking of an exceptionally intelligent yet brutal post that I wrote about Mr. Trenchcoat. I don't think that I saved it here, but I did write it on myspace. I almost wish I had kept it, but I deleted it because I'm just so totally over what happened.

Except I'm not.

I'm afraid to date again. And I don't mean the typical, "Oh, what if he doesn't like me!" kind of afraid. I'm truly terrified - "What if he hits me?". Given what I said to B earlier, I want to say, "Yes, I may have drunkenly gone overboard, but I've had hell the past few years, so please forgive my wacky desperateness. Don't think that because I like you that much, I will actually date you, because the thought terrifies the fucking baby Heebus out of me." Every time I think of it, I tense up and feel frightened. What if I date a guy for a while and then he hits me? I didn't leave the last time, will I have enough courage to do so this time? Or, like before, will I pretend that it didn't happen even though I was in excruciating pain and should have gone to the hospital to see if there was permanent damage? I don't want that in the realm of possibility when I date someone, and you never know just by looking at a guy if he's going to do that. It was only that once, so I'm grateful for that, but it was no less scary. And now I get nervous just stating an opinion on anything. It doesn't require any extra thought for Mr. Trenchcoat, but for me, now I've got this permanent fear.

Oh, and the thing he kicked me for? A conversation I was having with someone else, having to do with ghosts, because I can occasionally feel them. I was "speaking with authority on something that doesn't exist" and he got mad at me. "I thought you were smarter than that." It didn't involve him, he just sat there doing some kind of calculations while drinking, and didn't join in the conversation with my friend. For that, when we got home from the bar and started arguing, I was kicked in the leg, hard enough to cause internal bleeding. I didn't see it coming, I was getting up to check on the pizza in the oven.

And then he would have the gall, after that, to get mad when I didn't speak up on anything. Or that he had to pry the thoughts out of my head, because fucking excuse me, it's not like I'd be encouraged after that to ever speak my mind again.

Thanks for that, fucker. My trust levels were high enough, now they're damn near impossible to get through.

Random Update: I did keep it!