i've been thinking a lot lately about how i always seemed to bring out the worst in people. What was it in me that made people howl at the moon? my Granddaddy, JH, Jackson, clients. These people were worse with me than the rest of the world. What was it about me? It bugs the hell out of me. i'm looking for a story to tell. Something that doesn't make me feel too nutty but that has a purpose in telling. i just... seem to be saying a lot of nothing lately. Have i run out of things to say? Maybe its time to force out that last night. Or maybe beyond that, the last couple of times Jackson raped me. He was determined, but i wasn't having it. i've tried to write about the basement every way i know how. i just don't think its going to happen. There was once a little girl who was dragged into a basement, tied up by the neck and then tortured. Bottles stuck in her, animals killed, cuts, beatings, chemicals to make her sick and take away her breath and scar her lungs, poisoned food. She lived but she went insane. Maybe she lived because she went insane. It sucks a nut, but its how it played out. Maybe some day i'll be able to tell more. For now, i know i can't. i've tried. It doesn't work. A wise lady i know said some things aren't meant to be written. At this point, this is one of those things. So i'll finish Edward's as much as i can.
