Some are afraid to be abused, I am afraid to be the abuser, the problem, the one that brings pain of almost every dimension. The one that doesn’t understand why or how it got to that point. Where did your innocence go, I say, and when did this anger come out? You think it’s suppressed in the back of your skull when it’s really preparing to pounce on the prey that is your partner, your victim.
Affection becomes this subconscious rage and soon that subconscious rage becomes conscious rage, visible rage, intimidating rage that you no longer know how to control.
And it scares you so deep into your core that you don’t even realize what’s happened anymore until you reach a mirror.
You see yourself and you see those eyes and you see the inferno burning inside and you see the built up tension of a monster growing bigger and more powerful everyday.
And you know you aren’t the only one who sees it.
Other people see it too, they just say nothing. (Silence is the biggest enemy).
You’d hope for some other intervention, someone to offer advice or help or some usefulness that could decode this message of impending doom and evil, but they don’t.
And maybe it’s because they don’t believe your eyes or their own or maybe they are already too scared of you to approach because maybe those demonic eyes are blocking the silent facial screams for help.
You keep hinting and asking, subtly of course, but it’s no more than bad jokes and forgotten thoughts to everyone else.
Yes, all abusers are assholes, but isn’t it something to wonder about them? Wonder how they got that point? It’s easy to blame them, their family, and their friends for not seeing the signs. But what if you’re that friend? That family member?
Maybe not today, but in the future you may become the person others talk about. The person they wonder about. Or even the person they despise.
Maybe one day we will learn how to help someone empty a gun before letting them shoot it.