Sunday, June 22, 2014

It feels like a betrayal of myself to even address this to him. I hate writing as if to myself and not a seperate party, yet that’s what he has reduced me to. I don’t know how to crawl out of that.
I was just beginning to heal, a thin veneer of new skin growing over my wounds. He appeared out of nowhere and tore them open with his bare hands. I collapsed, bleeding and weak, and he laughed as he walked away. He thinks it makes him strong, not caring, but it only reveals his fragile self-perception to me. I have been the strong one. I have been the one capable of remaining single, capable of expressing and processing my thoughts, feelings and doubts as they come. I think he wants that. I think he at least doesn’t want me to have it. He wants to strip me of my stability. He wants me to feel inadequate and exposed. And I do. His fear tactics worked. He is making me question things I never used to question. He has made me want to slay my own hopes.
Yet deep inside, there is a little spark whispering to me, “what he tries to make you feel is what he feels about himself. Hold your hands open. Breathe. Exhale. Stretch. Lift your heart. This will pass. The bleeding will stop. You will heal. You will heal. You will heal. You are stronger than him.”

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