I have found myself, by no one else’s fault but my own. In what seemingly, statistically speaking and told the autobiographical fairy tale story books of your local support group. In a “relationship” a relationship I have been in and now am in recovery from

This relationship is deemed as normative behavior in my chosen profession, and it should never have been. No one deserves their fate to be in the hands of a violent, abusive relationship. My story, at least this chapter. I will be speaking in the first person it was me, or I. In the relationship, I didn’t deserve.

That relationship that I had to end. But, with an abuser, it never ends even granted the permanent one by the powers that be. Even with the coveted restraining order. That’s a piece, or large packet of paper with stamps of judges and court clerks declaring the person that was rehabilitated by the Department of Corrections will abide by the said order of the court to stay away. This signature will make your abuser stop dead in his tracks. He’ll never contact you, stalk, or hit you again. Because the judge signed a very serious document. And because history proves, the law doesn’t apply to him. The documents declaring your safety aren’t even laminated for aesthetics or extra protection so maybe you can throw the stack in hopes it distracts long enough, maybe cause a paper cut. At least long enough, for you to get your emergency bag and run.

Well, here I am, recovering. Being rehabilitated by the department of my inner assassins. Yelling at myself please, Joslynn, turn the page.