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Saturday, June 11, 2011

Emotional Hangover

To all the women who let the men in their lives treat them badly.



The feeling that instigates self-indulgent thoughts. The tears well up in the corners of your eyes and the weakness seeps into every one of your pores. The redness in your cheeks begin to swell the anger and shame over powering your whole body. The palms of your hands sweaty and shaken could barely make a fist. The room starts spinning in a blurred stupor. How did you get like this? Your day is consumed by the reminder of how badly he’s treated you. Your concentration is no longer focused on the pile of work you have in front of you. Instead the flaringly flamboyant insecurities creeping into your soul are analyzed to death. Perhaps death is the answer. Death to this relationship, death to these feelings, this emotion, these tears this lingering dissatisfaction that haunts your way of living. You used to be so strong, before this bag of douche took hold of your independence. You use to have a grasp on love. But how could love make you so disillusioned and bleak. This affection has turned your life upside down, and still you’re convinced it’s physical. Hateful words collide with shields your bloodless heart put up. The shattering destruction explodes what’s left of your sanity. The fractured ego, and bruised pride sends you off in the balance of the unorthodox. Extreme emotion come out, you spurt out angry phrase after angry phrase, your tears have become joining rivers flowing freely from your eyes, and you don’t have the power to lift your head. Your damp pillowcase, has absorbed these issues for weeks on end, and has finally drowned. A quick glance in the mirror only serves to make real your deepest fear. He really did get to you. He honestly reached into your chest and crumpled your whole relationship into a ball of hateful spite. This isn’t you. This is him. You have adapted yourself to his level. You’re better than this, better than him. A smile takes shape through your lips, and you let out a sheepishly relief chuckle as the tears evaporate. The room looks brighter, the ceiling clearer, and your hands no longer shake. Your phone begins to vibrate, as that familiar number appears. Looks like repetition to me…

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