I sat at a table today for lunch, specifically thinking that I ought to not listen to him–but I did.
I did it anyways, and for a second, I actually believed it was something I wanted. Something I needed.
But of course it wasn't, because I never need this. He just convinces myself that I do, and how terribly easy it is for him to get into my head and take control. To pull and rip at my mind, tearing me away from the real world.
That auspicious one that I once lived in, carelessly.
He takes my hand and drags me along with him. Eventually I comply so the pain from resisting stops, I give in and let him take me, and afterwards I remember how foolish and weak I was for doing that.
Because that's always how it ends–and I know that. I'm very aware of everything I am and everything I seemingly have to do. That disharmonious cycle, turning in every direction trying to confuse me.
It works so well.
And when I'm finished and I've realized the course of my actions, I hate it. I hate him and everything else. I hate all of the guilt and shame and isolation that comes along with it.
But most importantly, I hate myself.
I hate myself because he feeds off of my misery, consuming even more than I do, and leaves me with nothing but pain.