I got a really positive response from "You Think I'm Beautiful", so I decided to see what I could do. This will be an ongoing pseudo-diary. Or real diary posted on-line, etc. Something, because I've got to. My lover has been talking with me about "Beautiful", and he thinks I should continue this. He wants me to tell all of you about what is going on.

The updates will be sporadic, based entirely on how things happen. Who knows, if I get enough chapters, I may just publish it. And I believe the chapters may just get shorter and shorter, or longer. Whichever is necessary.

He came back today.

You know as well as I know who he is, and you know that he came back. He is usually there, hanging around, waiting until my concentration slips by just a little bit, and then he pounces.

Today he grabbed me hard.

He sometimes comes by the bridge, walking beside me as I cross the bridge to come home, and he whispers things to me. He takes me by the arm, making it impossible for me to escape, and I try, you know I try, but I'm too weak.

He tells me you don't really love me. He tells me I'm useless, hopeless, helpless, and he makes me cry all the time. I call it a funk, but you and I both know the truth. He's been talking to me again. He tells me that I'm ugly, that I have no worth, and that I am just going to this college for fun. He tells me I'm useless and hopeless at my chosen major, the one you pointed me to. He rips off the small shell of protection I put around myself, and he makes me completely helpless.

You know what it feels like when you have been burned? Where all of the nerves have been exposed and the softest touch can hurt like you've been stabbed? That's what it feels like when he's there, when he talks to me so forcefully.

Other people are there, on the bridge, as he walks with me, holding me captive and whispering such painful things. They never give me another glance; everyone has their own business to get to, and I know I do it too. I don't stop to help people as much as I should, but that is hardly a reason to not help me. So I just hang my head and tell him to stop, to stop telling me such things, to stop holding me so tight. But he just laughs.

You know why he does it. He doesn't want you with me. It doesn't matter who is with me, just not you. What hurts the most, though, is not just the words, but the fact that they hurt. I mean, if they hurt, that means I must really fear what he's telling me.

I am afraid that you don't really love me, that I'm hopeless, helpless, useless, ugly. I fear these things, which is why they are so painful.

Then I scream for you, when I can no longer take it. When my emotional nerves are shot and I'm tired of trying to fight him on my own. I scream for you, wanting comfort, even though I know that the real comfort I need is protection from the danger inside me. Can you save me from myself?

You come, when I call. You are there, always. He backs off then, and you simply hold out open arms to me. I run to you again, as I love to do. I love to simply be held by you.

But his words continually echo in my ears. It comes down to this: do I trust you, or do I trust him? You, who have never lied to me, never broken my heart, always been there for me, always loved me, or him, who speaks aloud the deepest fears of my heart? Then the question is really, who do I trust, you or me?

Shakespeare once said to "love all, trust a few, do wrong to none." Who are the few that I trust, then? You, or me? If I cannot trust myself, how can I trust anyone? But if I don't trust you, I'm calling you a liar, which you never are. I'm so confused right now, and all because he came today, whispering things in my ear.

You just hold me. Always. Whispering things in my ear of all the things that you help me be good at. That I'm not helpless: you're always there to help me. I'm not hopeless: you're always there to support me and point me forward. I'm not useless: if I do what you tell me to do, then I have a purpose and use, and I'm what you want me to be. I'm not ugly: because you think I'm beautiful.

I have a shell I put on to protect myself, but he always rips it off. Then you replace it with yourself, which he can never get through. For that, I know I can trust you. I know that you will be supportive and strong for me. I know that your shoulder is always there to cry on.

Can you save me from myself? That's where I need saving. You already saved me from him. He's just trying to get under my skin, now, since he knows I'm with you, but he says the things I fear the most.

Can you save me from myself?

He came again today.

Hold me. I need it now, because he came again. He took hold of me by the arm tightly, painfully, and he spoke out the lies that I have within my heart. Please, just, hold me and rip the lies from me. I don't care how painful or forceful the ripping of the lies has to be: I just know that if those lies are gone, he won't have anything to hurt me with.

Please, save me from myself.

And in true fictionpress fashion, review responses:

Lordelfy: I know I must have said this a billion times, but thank you for the review, and I appreciate it again.

WickedRedHead: Thank you, thank you. I appreciate the praise, but hey, as I had mentioned in Beautiful, I'm a terrible lover. The story is only made beautiful by my lover. I'll make sure he knows your praise.

Bulletproof.cupid: I appreciate the comments, and I will definitely hang onto him. Well, actually, he's hanging onto me. When I use the word betrayed, I'm not kidding. So many times, I try to run away, thinking that someone else will be better, but it's not. He's the one not letting go.

Rayne Logan: Love Languages. . . I think it was Gary Chapman that wrote the book on them. Check it out. I think the title is (if I remember correctly) The Five Love Languages. That would probably explain it a bit better than me. And just so that you know: it is a diary entry, in a way. As mentioned above, I am turning this into a form of diary, since writing helps me think. When things happen, I need to think a lot. And my lover insisted that I post these, and out of love for him, I do it.

To those who know my lover, don't keep him silent! Let those who have ears hear, and those who have eyes see.

Shadow YellowEyes