The night he strangled me is the night my soul finally died.
But it didn’t happen all at once. It happened slowly, over years. I think about the person that I was before him, and I don’t recognize myself anymore. That version of me?
He killed her.
She was a good woman. A kind woman. Full of hope and trust.
She was the kind of person who called her friends when they were going through it, just to check in. Not to be polite. Because she actually cared and wanted to know how they were holding up.
She had better habits. She still believed that if you didn’t quit, you’d eventually get where you were trying to go. She believed life could still turn out right if you kept showing up and trying.
But now she’s dead.
She’s gone.
And I miss her like you miss a person. I lost the part of me that made me better. I lost someone I depended on. I lost a friend.
And I don’t think she’s ever coming back…