I have disappeared, off a cliff, away from view and out of touch. You’re still trying to piece together what happened, as if applied logic after the fact might heal the festering wounds. Same behavior = same results. It’s not rocket science. So, I decided it’s mighty time I flew.
Climate change. Breathing room. Baptismal waters. I need fresh eyes to see with and long for fresh eyes to see me. Yours was a subtle form of bleeding me dry, those frequent staple gun wounds to the heart finally reached critical mass. You withheld everything in your power to withhold, as if scarcity was your most cherished commodity. Making sure to deliver alternating doses of pain and love, you discovered the intermittent reinforcement schedule worked like a charm. You got yourself a prisoner.
Love blinds but also binds. So how does a blind, bound woman untie the ropes? Slowly, with intent. It’s not as if you planned it this way. I know that. We are all only working with the tools we have. We robots, manufactured by the factory of life.
Is it wrong to want to be loved in ways that nurture instead of ways that destroy? Who would have guessed that loving yourself is the first recovery? The second is not allowing another’s plea for help rope you in so tightly, you can't escape. Oh, how we’re all been hardwired to do just the opposite: Love others first. Do not self aggrandize. Be humble. Be generous to those who are in need. And while you’re at it, disappear, why don’t you?
I have disappeared, off a cliff, away from view and out of touch. I decided it’s mighty time I flew.
