Taylor L > Recent Status Updates

The purpose of suffering is to repair that which is faulty in a man’s personality.

According to his mindset, she should believe that his abuse has stopped when he says it has stopped, regardless of what she sees in front of her own eyes.

The more time he has to tear down your self-opinion, the more difficult it will be for you to believe that you deserve better treatment.
The more time he has to hurt you emotionally, the more likely your energy and initiative are to diminish, so that it gets harder to muster the strength to get out.

When he looks at himself in the morning and sees his dirty face, he sets about washing the mirror

When a woman gets called names or gets shoved or slapped, she at least knows what her partner did to her. But after a manipulative interaction she may have little idea what went wrong; she just knows that she feels terrible, or crazy, and that somehow it seems to be her own fault.

Inside the abuser's mind, there is a world of beliefs, perceptions, and responses that fits together in a surprisingly logical way. His behavior does make sense. Underneath the facade of irrationality and explosiveness, there is a human being with a comprehensible—and solvable—problem.
But he doesn't want you to figure him out.

There was sky in the fireplace. There was the Pacific, the horizon, the war, the past: the pale blue of places I had dreamed of; and the dark, awesome greens of places to which I was frightened to go.

"You are my son, and this is my home," said Roz. "I will do everything in my power to return." Brightbill hugged his mother's worn face.
"I love you, Mama."
"I love you, son."

The wilderness really can be ugly sometimes. But from that ugliness came beauty. You see, those poor dead creatures returned to the earth, their bodies nourished the soil, and they helped create the most dazzling spring bloom the island had ever known.

The robot's body may have been hard and mechanical, but it was also strong and safe. The gosling felt loved. His eyes slowly winked closed. And he spent the whole night quietly sleeping in his mother's arms.

You are good human 🪨

🎶🎵

If I’m going to die, it’s going to have meaning.

I realized then, for the first time, that her dreams would always be different from mine.

With a brush, I would blur the woods. I would blur them with a murky mixture of brown and green and black, the hueless shade that I know from my dreams to be the color of pain.

He felt like the ragged ghoul staggering across the screen in an old movie, the peace he sought always out of reach.

Perhaps all you had to do was pretend something was true and then someday it would be, no matter how fantastic, no matter how fucked up.

By the time the sun came up the next morning, it seemed as if all the shame and fear I’d ever carried inside of me was burned away like a pile of dead leaves.

He looked happy, and I hated him instantly.