dear making believe diary,
sometimes i like to sit here and make believe that i could possibly kill him. i like to imagine how i would and how it would feel and how i would clean up the mess and where i would eat afterwards. i know i would be starving when i was done and i would want a fantastic meal. prolly chicken and biscuits. if people respond to trauma in various ways, then so far i have done a fairly terrific and responsible job of myself. it never hurts to have a plan. it isn't a shame for the normal-ist of whores to reach inside the deepest part of the darkest part of our souls to purge the silliest of ideas just to rid them- to make room for more possibly. i've got plenty of room now- i am having new ideas and i am starving.
