Every time I post my stomach jumps and shrinks. I feel scared...naked...ashamed. When I make these childish drawings I am not thinking about anyone else but me. I draw and write things that haunt me. It's like I am vomiting out the bad stuff so that I could breathe again for a while. I don't care what's on the paper. I just stop when I feel relief. And many days later the same kind of pain comes back and I feel suffocated. I start to feel this urge to do something crazy. Something I can't. Something I shouldn't. The adrenaline rush makes me lightheaded. "Do it, do it, do it" The sound comes from the inside. "Share it" My ex is still abusive. And I feel so powerless, so helpless against the insults. I wish he would be here. I wish he would push me. I wish he would hurt me with his body so that I can disconnect and not feel anything. But I have no escape. His words hit me. From the phone, from Facebook messages, and every Sunday I get to hear them from him in person when I let my child at his house. I can't stop the abuse. So I draw. And write. And push "post".