Self-degradation isn’t holy.
Self-loathing isn’t humility.
The beginning of the end of my imprisonment was when I stopped believing I was bad. As long as I was bad, I needed them.
It was all a clever plan, really.
Either reject myself or they would.
Accept life on their terms or have it taken from me. When I refused, they made good on their promise of misery.
What they don’t want me to know though is that I wasn’t rejected; I just escaped.
When I escaped they ensured I lost everything. I lost the life they built for me, but then I could find my own.
I might have lost their acceptance of me, but which of us won the war? Look and see – who is imprisoned now? Them or me?
No longer their shiny toy, I stepped out the door into the wonderland outside. Their tiny world will always be contained by four walls with stained glass on the sides.
I’m here, believing I am good and giving myself good things. They are still back there running in circles. Forever playing that vicious game.