He was kind-eyed. He was soft-spoken.
He was strong-minded, intelligent, manipulative.
He was crazy, goofy, immature.
He stood his ground. He was demanding, forceful.
He helped me change myself.
He helped me destroy the parts of myself that people wouldn't like.
The parts that he didn't like.
He took my mind and shaped my thoughts to suit home.
He took my body and made me a human that suited him.
He showed me how stupid, ugly, fat, worthless, and helpless I was.
He showed me how nothing I was.
I was nothing for such a long time.
I. Was. Nothing.
I didn't feel. I didn't hurt. I wasn't happy or sad.
But I wasn't confused either.
I wasn't mistaken or stupid or immature or naive.
I was nothing.
Nothing can't make mistakes.
Nothing doesn't deserve happiness.
He deserved happiness; he deserved great things.
He had taken me so far and helped me ruin me and I loved him for it.
I loved him with every punch, kick, grab . . . every demeaning comment.
Every time he said I was nothing. I wasn't naive. I was nothing.
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