The tears still stream down my face, although the fight was hours ago. My head pounds, I hate crying, it always leaves these throbbing headaches. How does he always make me feel like a frighten child when he yells? How does he always seem to pierce my soul with that cold gaze & almost instinctively raise my hands to protect myself like I did as a child. The person I love without fail, for what reason, I will never understand. I sit still reeling from his shouting, red with anger. I hate feeling like this, he makes me feel so small, so pathetic. No more does he hurt me with hands, no, he has chosen a new form of abuse over the years. Both just as painful, but mental wounds are much easier to hide then bruised flesh. He is why I won’t let anyone see me cry, the reason I never want to be seen when I’m so vulnerable. The reason my walls are up, he was the first man to hurt me, so all of them must be the same.