Sylvanna Devlin

I want out.

Someone, generously said to be foolish, set a lethal weapon on me and shrugged her shoulders of all responsibility.

I was, yet again, targeted by a weaponized Troll-bot. Ready to gaslight and abuse 24/7

Should a victim be capable of sleeping, the abuse continues while they try.

Not just weird stuff like dream manipulation.

Constant prodding and attempts to waken. The recording of a gaggle of “mean girls” outside my window.

The complaint that I, as a repeated victim, should shoulder responsibilities this weapon caused.

And why?

Because some Twat can’t control me because I don’t need her to. Society doesn’t need me to. That’s her issue. Her anxiety of the strange. Her weakness. Her fear.

All set to kill on me.

Either she’s behaving with so little thought to consequences she’s a fuckwit, or she’s so evil and vile she doesn’t care about them.

And I was going to delve into the personality of an abuser. But the same person trying to reach for hope in the previous essay (me) terrifies her.

And she’s rather kill me than admit she does indeed find me scary.

Because why?

Practicality and Hope?

Really?

I’m not sure I no longer want to be Alexander Hamilton (the play version) thank you not-so-much.

Maybe I should learn to fire back.

Except I’d rather die than become like you.

If you wanted down this hallway to talk to me, it hasn’t been my choice you couldn’t.

All abusive people argue being controlling is protecting but it doesn’t matter if they believe that or not.

It’s shitty behavior I did not request nor want.