The book A Prisoner by No Crime of My Own has been professionally edited and will be published this year. To pique interest, I will share tidbits from the manuscript with you each Tuesday.
Chapter 13 – An Olympic Race
. . . continued . . .
Sure — I had and have a lot of love for my parents, sometimes. What good is my love going to do now? It becomes a dance with the wicked.
Take your partner — do–see–do, swing that bullshit ‘round the floor.
Don’t look close or you will see, the manipulation ‘round the tree.
It just isn’t possible to have an engaging, real relationship when my abusers’ agenda was only to silence me. Better still, their goal was to regain their control over my mind and help me see the denial I was supposed to stay in. Reminiscent human love just isn’t worth a lot to me and in truth, isn’t worth a lot to them either. It’s like an addiction. Your substance of choice feels great at the time, but after the initial climax, you’re left with an empty feeling — wondering why you went back. I wasn’t going to let this type of love keep me bound. I had to fight it.