Day by day in the shackles of existence

Well.

At least there was light.

To guide me out of the way of where I was currently headed.

And where I was headed was a place I had already been.

So familiar.

So rote.

So used to the situation.

So used to the same old circumstances.

Did not know I had options.

Didn’t know I could say,

”No.”

That was generally reserved for others to say to me.

When I got in their way.

Which seemed to be a lot.

Often even.

Not knowing where to turn to.

Or which way to go from here.

It was always so strangely familiar.

The feelings of animosity. Pointed in my direction.

On the outside the smile was getting harder and harder to fake.

On the inside.

I think I had already died a thousand deaths.

The fear, over time, envelopes itself in the chaos and the secrets.

Never to be spoken aloud.

Never to be uttered under the breath either.

What some people will do to get a rise out of another is mind boggling. Deprivation of liberty-mind-boggling. The lessons came hard and fast not to challenge authority. The authority in the room. Which was just about anybody but me. Who had the authority. Over me. To do with me as they pleased.

And there were various ways to have to sit there and “take it.”

Rejection. Not an option.

Talking back. Not an option.

Stuck. Not an option.

Unstuck. Not an option.

The fear came in the form of a dead stare, too.

It was in the eyes.

If the moment of “can’t take it anymore” hit, and you dared to say something in response.

The eyes just about cut you into two pieces alright. The after party of contempt for you, still fresh and palpable many days after. The days just blended together. Double teamed on those you love, too. The methods were toxic. The methods were madness. The methods continuous.

The manacle of self. Themselves. The funny thing is, there was safety in their numbers and they stuck together when they knew who could be handled. And how to handle them. And you, or shallI say, Me.

The pile on of all piles ons.

Life as you never knew it as it was stolen from you.

Life takes it toll on you.

You attempt to mentally hide, from it all.

Insidiously hidden.. Not a good idea.

But hey. Something had to give.

And it was not going to be the shackle holders who held your life over you for their benefit.

Distinguished gentlemen.

Beautifully coiffed ladies.

Made no difference

All bright and shiny and pretty as well.

They threw their invisible shackles all over the place and around your neck as tight as can be.

And everyone looks at you like you have the problem.

And you do. Have a problem.

But it is not what they think or know, or care about.

The people pleasing placation of your existence finally cracked you into pieces. And where are they now? The shackle holders? No where to be found. No where to be seen. ‘Cept in your mind and memories from time to time.

And the most versed of the shackle holders are really adept at reverse shackle holding. One could almost say it was a talent. They retain their vestige of power over you in ways small and large.

The mind never really forgets completely.

They can be physical.

They can be psychological.

The shackles.

Worst of all.

They can be human.

A caged mind can prevent itself from fulfilling the desires of the heart.

Heartbreaking really.

The nature of the soul. The willingness or unwillingness to take it on the chin. For another. The inability to reach out a hand because it hurts too much. The hurt alone stops you in your tracks.

Boxed in.

Boxed out.

In the end it doesn’t really matter.

The old ball and chain is invisibly always tethered and

It hurts.

Like. Hell.

Thinking you did everything right.

When all you were doing was everything wrong.

Well, at least according to everyone else.

Who bothered to take notice.

Until, of course, they started to not get everything they wanted out of you.

Which was just about everything. That they had already taken out of you.

With very little regard.

Very little notice.

Until one day.

You ran.

Then another day,

You ran.

And another day,

You ran.

Trying to gasp for the breath to tell someone, anyone.

That you needed to get out of there.

That is the problem with being under someone’s thumb.

It hurts.

The times weren’t all bad.

They were mostly bad.

That is the problem with being under someone’s heel, too.

Disempowerment has its benefits.

For the shackle holder.

One gets so used to it.

So very used to it.

Uttering a complete sentence seems nearly impossible.

How in the world can I possibly bite the hand that feeds me?

Very carefully.

I confess.

One day it all comes to. A head.

Past the point of no return.

Then one day.

Your wake up call comes.

Not the way you may have expected it.

But the day you thank your lucky stars it came.

Four walls.

No shoes.

And a quiet space to come to terms with.

Stuff.

The only light you see, is the fact that there is a

Light.

The moment you realize that it wasn’t all your fault.

The guilt tripping knocked you off balance for years.

You realize you could have said, “No.”

That is a little freedom right there for you.

A “blip” of knowingness that comes over you.

Scarier than one can possibly imagine though.

Because.

Now what.

Weirdly, there is “security” in the madness, when it is all that you knew, all that you know.

Taking a baby step out of the prison cell of no return is frightening.

The people pleasing left back in the cell with the four cold walls.

What is real anymore?

When I hated to be alone in a room with the person who would dress me down and I could not prove it?

That was real.

That really happened.

Happened.

Words can cut like a knife worse than a knife cuts through the heart. Proving the hurt is in the eyes.

The sadness of the eyes.

The downward cast of the look.

The inability to look straight into the eyes of another usually says it all.