My first official relationship was really rocky. He pulled me out of the closet kicking and screaming, thinking I'd be grateful for the liberation he offered me. As he began to realize I wasn't going to give him what he wanted, he started saying things to me, trying to break me open - trying to break me, period. At one point, he called me 'damaged merchandise.' It was the first time I'd heard that expression, and the truth of it stung.
Like most of us walking around Battlefield Earth, I am indeed damaged, a screaming Kmart blue light special. This damage has left only pieces of me that are functional; I rarely function as a whole unit, especially when pushed to full throttle. I'm entertaining at times, but ultimately frustrating or deeply disappointing. Buyer beware!
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