The events that brought you to me are ethereal and faint; they're memories made fuzzy by years of denying pain...and your existence. I've carried you for so long that your heaviness seems a natural part my being. You're uncomfortable; you hurt, but Fear cautions me leave you.
"Don't speak it though you lived it. Don't speak it though you feel it. You never know what you'll unearth, dredging up years of buried hurts."
So I don't address you, but your presence is undeniable. In familiarity and defeat, I reach for a masculine pacifier, and you're there. Lying in wait, excited by triggers, you express yourself in insecurity, compensation, hardness, and anger. You're a manipulator, a master of deflection. You've usurped my reality and perverted my perception. No more! This is your notice to vacate; you must leave. I'll no longer be a host; I'm not your feed. There won't be another year of your progress interruptions. I'm over you, your emotional toll, and relational destruction. From this day forward, I'm rooting you out. Trauma, you can't live with me; my life is not your house.
