Have you ever said: I've got no regrets? I think I just lost the ability to say it. I don't regret the book or anything that's in it. I don't regret the reason I sent it. But I regret having sent it. And I regret who's hands its in now. I don't think I've ever poured more of myself into anything. Now I feel vulnerable. When I said, don't open it, return it to sender, I meant it. He didn't listen. Again. Again and again he doesn't hear me. Again and again I become less and less to him. Where once I was love now I am enemy. This path was of my own choosing. I am feeling more and more trapped. I want to scream and cry and kick and yell. Only I don't really know what I want.