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  • Writer's pictureCounty Lines

I Don’t Think So

At first I was ecstatic to have my home and my freedom back, and sort of went into denial refusing to think about it.

But then I started getting nightmares and the memories came flooding in. Mr Boss Man and his runners turned up on my doorstep a couple of times and I became more and more depressed which was interspersed with bursts of absolute hysteria.

Which is when I became a complete hysterical mess and had a full on nervous breakdown.

Then I was confused for a bit. I was baffled as to why the hell I was being charged for a crime I was a victim of, that I had reported to the police! 6 fucking times!

Then came full blown rage. What the FUCK? I was hysterical with anger. Absolutely crazy, manically hysterical. I had been trapped for 9 months, pleaded for help from the police 6 times, and when help arrived- SOME 9 MONTHS LATER- I WAS FUCKING ARRESTED!

I became numb with misery and as I watched the gang still strutting about the streets, still hiring more kids to deal their drugs, all I could think about was suicide.

Over the past week thoughts of suicide have been interrupted by thoughts of disbelief.

So I am getting proactive.

Oh no, don’t be trying to prosecute a traumatised victim while the knife wielding drug dealers go free.

I’m making a stand. Just wait.

Oh and I forgot to add, the knife waving/smashing things/screaming fit/accidentally on purpose robbing Mr Boss Man worked. They’ve gone. Ironically too terrified to come near me. I nearly wet myself laughing when Mr Boss Man threatened to have me SECTIONED!

Good riddance. Im crazy, single and bitter. Think it’s time I adopted a few cats.

No. Bad idea. I’ll end up being labelled a animal abuser.

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