CCReed

United States of America

Love to write. Doesn't matter if it's good.

Message from Writer

Please read, critique, read again, and enjoy yourselves thoroughly. If needed, read again and critique harshly. I'm always looking to improve my writing.

The Unspoken #MentalHealthMonth

May 17, 2019

FREE WRITING

3
It's been 17 days.
17 days since his last setback.
He couldn't go 2 days without indulging on it before, next he couldn't go 15.
I hope- no, I pray- PRAY that he never looks at it again.

Do you know what I'm talking about yet? A side of addiction that hardly gets talked about- the "He Who Must Not Be Named" of the addiction world. And yet, it's everywhere- on billboards, advertisements, social media, pop-ups, everywhere, EVERYWHERE.
I live in constant panic of the enemy of love.

It ensnared him years ago, before I even knew him, before it affected me. I don't know who he was before it took away his freedom.

Do you know what it's like to never feel like the one who says "I love you" is telling the truth? To know that deep, somewhere in the dark recesses of their heart, that their eyes have seen the parts of you that shouldn't be exposed, to know that a chain wraps around their love that keeps them from possibly truly being able to accept your body as it is, YOU as you are, as a person, a girl- after gorging on objects made of lies, lust, photoshopped and twisted to spark the evil area of imagination and torture a good heart into a guilty soul?

To be pulled apart between trust and mistrust, knowing that you need to let him fight his own battles but also wishing you could be with him constantly, not wanting to let him be alone with that, that phone, that screen, accessibility of his addiction at the literal tip of his finger, resting in his palm.

This is true mental, emotional, spiritual torture, to not know if he loves you like he says he does, or if his mind has hallucinated lust of you into some form of twisted love that makes every word he says a lie without him knowing it. Constant worry that the next time he pulls out that phone, opens up that computer screen, he's going to gaze on the cruelest snare the Internet has created, a black monster that hovers over his shoulder, tentacles wrapping themselves around his mind, dragging him into a pitfall of guilty torture, desperately trying to claw his way out.

It hurts to see him, to love him with such caution and restriction.

It's been 17 days.
But today could be the day he falls again.

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  • May 17, 2019 - 2:26pm (Now Viewing)

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