Never Let Go

You kept telling me to go. Spewed fire on me. Poured venom down my throat. Roared your rage at my presence. You hated my existence. And yet still I hung on, in your tornado of hatred. I never let go.

I saw the real you. Not the beast that huffed and puffed and continuously tore my house down. I saw You. The delicate, the fragile, the broken you. And I saw me. So I lever let go.

Yet one day, in the worst possible way, secrets were unraveled. The very Truth, that I knew all along and had carefully locked away, revealed it’s ugly head. It burnt and blinded me. In my hurt and pain and anger, I fled. Yet I still haven’t let go.

Most don’t understand that there is a greater force at play here. There is a reason why such dark thick toxic cords link two people. To severe this tie is death. And that is why I never let go.

The tears you can’t cry, I shed for you. The fury that I can’t release, you unleash with such ease. You and I are one, eternally connected through this cord. I will never let go.

Fade

You want me to slowly cease to exist.

You want my light to fade out.

My being ended, whittled away piece by piece.

Such cruelty is unimaginable.

My threshold for pain is great … my tolerance for abuse like no other.

But you want to meticulously chip away at me till I am no longer.

I do not understand this type of torment.

I will not gradually diminish.

My petals will not fall and shatter to the ground.

I will not go quietly into the dark for you.

I will just simply and suddenly vanish from your realm.

Submission

In today’s world, submission is an ugly word. It’s weak. Misunderstood. Even worse, masochistic … they are thought of as poor delusional victims. However, it is exactly the opposite … it is power … it is freedom. Props and toys that inflict pain and bind actually free oneself from the physical realm of deep seethed wounds. Cat Bryant in the Showtime series Billions said it best:

“So maybe that’s exactly what masochism is. It’s the pursuit of autonomy in and the control over pain and suffering.” Seasons 5, episode 4.

Cruel

You. With your eyes, those looks. With your coldness, ice. With your words, the worst. When you battle, you decimate, you slaughter. The world is yours to demolish.

I am the sole target, always in the line of fire. You rip me apart, tear me to shreds. Bring me down to nothingness.

Yet when the smoke slowly lifts and exposes your destruction, I rise. Once again, I stand, amongst the rubble in the wasteland.

I look in your eyes, expecting to see satisfaction… You relishing in your glorious victory. Yet all I feel is your pain, such intense hurt. You do not massacre for pleasure… You annihilate solely to survive.

From what you destroy, I rebuild. And so our cycle continues…

How Can This Be?

I have read that my greatest subconscious fear is intimacy. It is said that I unconsciously select love avoidants because I know they cannot ever give me true intimacy.

Yet, how can this be when there is such a burning desire within me for love. To give, to receive, to be fully immersed in love.

I am tasked with being alone. Apparently it is to do me some good. Yet, it only makes me yearn for partnership and companionship more.

It is stated that I am not content in my own solitude.

How can this be when I have spent the majority of my life alone?

“How sad that I am alone

in this odd time

sailing in a sea seeing no shoreline

moving the boat

in a grim dark night

in God’s water

with God’s grace. ” — Rumi

We are NOT meant to be alone.

Humans are pack animals. We originate from tribes and clans. In fact, I know my tribal blood. I blossom within a loving home – in a family.

Yet, I am to find peace alone.

The Hell with this. I don’t understand these boundaries and limitations!

Why is it wrong to be me? I was created for a reason. I was meant to share my love and exuberance. I was meant to be engulfed in the ecstasy of love.

“Anyone who is not in love cannot be as light as a soul

Like moon and stars cannot be orbiting restlessly

Hear it from me as the final word

A flag can never dance with no air and no wind.” — Rumi

Diary of a Love Addict

All that I hear lately is how crazy I am.
“You are too much, don’t you get tired of yourself?”
“You are relentless. Too intense. It is exhausting.”
“I am tired just listening to your stories.”
“How long are you going to go through this? It can’t be good for your health.”
What they don’t understand is how engrained this is in my very being. You call it crazy. I call it love. Sure it lays dormant at times and I am calm. I wear a mask of serenity. But once triggered, my flood gates open, and all the love I’ve barely managed to restrain comes gushing to the surface.

Do I get tired of myself? No.
Do you get tired of breathing? How can I get tired of my most basic need – LOVE?
It runs through every fiber of my being. If I don’t love, I don’t live. For me, what other purpose is there to life but to constantly burn with passion and pain?

The highs of love are more euphoric than anything I’ve experienced. The skies open and heaven is presented to me. Colors are more vivid than I have ever seen. Music is everywhere… I dance in ecstasy. Food turns into ambrosia. I float on clouds. Every sense is enhanced as I absorb all the riches of life. He is with me, and I am complete.

The lows are more excruciating than Hell itself. Days are long and never ending. I hear the clock tick as I wait for seconds to become minutes then hours. The pit of my stomach is on fire. My color spectrum narrows down to gray. I do not taste or smell. I yearn to be with my lover and every second apart is a lifetime of torment. I want physical pain to ease the agony within. I pray, plead, beg to be released of this curse.

I live in a dichotomy of emotions. Rapture and Agony. Will I give up on either? No. For without one, I could not have the other. My spectrum of emotions is much vaster than the norm. I feel so intensely.

You think it is scary to be the object of my desire? Oh honey, have no fear. Only the most coldest and heartless ones are drawn to my flame. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. The game must be played out as such. It requires two polar opposites. One void of any emotion, and the other full to the brim.

At first, the cold ones believe themselves to be head over heels for me. Of course they are. Even when I am trying my best to hold my emotions at bay, I exude high doses of love venom through every pore, and it is of the finest quality. So naturally they are drawn. They want to taste what they are completely empty of.
And so begins our dance… The love addict and the love avoidant tango.