I watch as everything I think I've had under control slowly unravels, and cringe at the idea that, if I would just step forward and grab the threads, I could weave them back together with such a small amount of effort. Right now, there's a trail left behind me that leads further back than I want to go, and every time I try to find the beginning of it, I get tangled up in the web, and I'm once again unable to move. He delights in this. It's the state he likes for me to be in, because when I'm in that state, I have no choice but to listen to him. Running around in circles, trying to pick up the messes he's set in motion, trying to re-catch the sense of self that he's pushed out of me, I'm open to the messages he whispers, just inside of the range of my hearing.
Nobody ever has.
You've fucked up your life to such an extent, there's no way you'll ever get it back on track. When you wake up tomorrow, you're still going to be you. And frankly, that's unacceptable. I can't express how sick I am of things right now. I have a job that pays me well enough to have my own apartment.