I believed I had no outlet. 
The relationship that I am cuffed up against a wall has begun to shape the grooves and folds in my brain to putty. The deep groove that made me believe I was beautiful is now smooth as a plain Jane. The fold that received high academic honors in college is now a crumpled up trash bag in the back seat of a rusty car. Those grooves and folds absorbed all those words you threw at them. The words you decided on wisely as you knew it would inflict the most perfect weapon. One that stung at first but also had a slow release tab that opened whenever I was left alone in my car. I reached for your acceptance or just a small hug.  But no hug for me, not from him and certainly not from anyone else, not my friends, not my family. You told me that I was one of those people that shouldn't confied in others because no one needed to know our business or hear me whining. I tried once. It got me a few more bruises to the mountain in my brain that used to be outgoing and adventurous. Now that mountain is burned with wildfire, has had landslides to flatten it, and the erosion has left loneliness, tears, and servere trust issues. I am afraid I have one desire left...not love, not happiness, not peace. It's actually something he gave me. It never existed before in my grooves and folds. He grew it. It grew slow at first like a simple flower but then turned to a great oak tree planted right in the middle. It's roots have twisted and suffocated my dreams, my love, my life. It then took hold fast and shot up and out full of greenery to smother out the sun. What caused it...his weapon...that ended with him saying, "I can't wait to put you under that tree I've picked out in the back yard." It stung, at first, then wildfire, then erosion, leaving one desire. I desire that spot beneath the tree. My grooves want that darkness and my folds want it to be over. My mountain is now tired. The brain I once had is no more and now my only outlet, a spot beneath my tree, death.