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My heart is sore. That's the only way I can describe it.

When I left you, New Boo hadn't come home. He finally made it in -- the next night. What he told me gave me more pause than I'm ready for. His explanation was that he'd done "something bad" -- I can't bring myself to say what -- and he didn't want me to see him that way.

Okay...I have to admit that I've NEVER dealt with that one. I didn't know what to do at all. For one, I realize that his issues have nothing to do with me because that's not the kind of person I am. Secondly, I love him, and I want to help, but this is so far removed from everything I know.

So that was bad, but I thought I'd be okay. Then he did something similar two nights later where he didn't come home until 2:30 in the morning. I was livid because we'd just had the same fight two days ago. His drunken philosophy was that he'd come home, so I should be okay. Never mind that he was drunk out of his mind.

We fought. And I don't mean just yelling and screaming. There was beating on doors, pushing and shoving. These are things that I just don't do normally, but I was taken outside of myself. Literally. The worst part -- he didn't even remember what happened the next day. He was like, "How did I end up on the couch?"

Now I'm really at a loss. I was so upset the day after that I left my house and stayed all day. I did it because my home felt like a war zone and I couldn't deal with it. The bad part? New Boo didn't even try to find out where I was. I came home at 2am, and he didn't even flinch. I'm guessing this is the way I'm supposed to react to what he does.

I don't want to live like this. I can't.

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