I hate when you're holding everything inside and you get that lump in your throat and knot in your stomach sometimes almost to the point of nausea. I hate how sensitive it's made me. I cry when I hear of other people suffering in the world even if it's someone I never met. I hate the war because I think about all the other people who are going to come home with PTSD. I weep for anyone who has to deal with such a soul sucking mental, but yet I think that if everyone was as sensitive as I was, maybe the world would be a better place.
I hate when people tell me "how lucky I am to be alive." They think it's just this one incident, which for the most part is the worst part of it. But I was being abused by him for almost two years. I had a child with him, and I was scared to leave for a long time. I finally left him and he came to my dad's house where I was staying and stabbed me.