It rose up like bile this morning. The anger. The rage. That place where injustice meets desistance. I am angry, that HE gets to go on about his miserable, pathetic life as if I were some insignificant thing that he could cast aside. It’s so much more than the passing of a relationship or the ending of a book. It’s an unfinished chapter in my life, it’s a run on sentence, a cliff hanger without resolve. I invested so much time and energy into this empty void that kept filling with more and more negative space, engulfing all things…all things…..all things ME. I suppose it’s because it’s getting closer to the surgery to help repair what he did to me on the outside. It doesn’t begin to grasp what he left on the inside. I didn’t want to have surgery again, didn’t want to be carved into, splayed apart. Surgery comes with risks, risks I didn’t ever want to face again, unless I absolutely had too. So I’m angry. I feel the violation over and over again. He faces no consequences, no repercussions. He faces nothing because he is a coward. Inhuman. I would will him to feel each needle pressing into my skin. I would will him to feel each slice of the scalpel, each dissection of the blade, each tug and pull of my tissues as entry is made to remove what he left behind. I would will him to feel each wrench of the surgical steel being wedged into my body to pull free the damage he has done. I would will him to feel it all…as he has willed me to feel it all. The anger rises up and I swallow it down as I always have.