Why

Journal Entry

Well, journal, I know what it's like to suffer. I know what it's like to struggle. I know what it's like to do without. I damn sure know what it's like to be alone. I just don't understand why. I've never gone out of my way to take from somebody, and I've never raised a hand in anger to anyone. Yet, I'm cast as this monster. The only difference between me and Frankenstein is I'm not made of different people. I'm me—I'm Curtis. 

And sure, people aren't hunting me down with pitchforks, but I've got neighbors who are scared of me and threatening to shoot me because I'm supposed to be a woman-beater. I just don't know why. There are a lot of things I don't know why about. Why did I have to be violated as a child? Why did I have to be made to believe I was a bad kid growing up? Why did that young soldier have to end his life in front of me or anyone else? Why am I plagued with thoughts of self-harm? 

There are so many questions I have that go unanswered. I see people running around enjoying life when all I want to do is get rid of mine. Why can't I get a do-over? Why can't I go more than 24 hours without shedding tears?

I've gone 53 years of my life, and the other day, for the first time, I woke up wanting to hurt somebody. Not just break their heart, but break their bones, break their skin, completely break them to make them feel the pain I've gone through. I've lost it all again. I lost my home. I struggled at first being there alone, but I was getting over it. 

And then a woman I loved with every fiber of my being had to ruin it all with lies. The only way I would have hurt her was by smothering her with love. She knows I wouldn't hurt her. She asked me to be rough in the bedroom, and I couldn't do it, so why would I do it just for the hell of it?