You’re not fooling anybody.  Do you really think you can maintain the status quo by pretending not to see the mess in front of you?  What kind of twisted logic has brought you here . . . the type that conveniently fits into your preconceived delusion, or the one that completely excuses you from interacting with others?

No, I’m not talking to the idiot standing next to you.  At least that poor soul had the courage to own his actions.  What about yours?  Are you planning to let them lay and deny all responsibility? 

I don’t blame you if you do.  What could be more disheartening than unpleasant personal discoveries?  The shock alone could set you back and rekindle your appetite for self-destruction.  What a naughty creature you are!  says that voice, spinning round and round in your head.  Maybe you ought to follow its advice and indulge in a few more destructive habits.  You’ve earned the moniker, haven’t you?  Might as well live it, too.  Who could fault you for giving in to temptation?  Self-pity is such a succulent fruit.

Go ahead. . . pick it from the tree.  I won’t tell anyone.  They’ll have to torture me before I reveal your secret.  But then, I’d rather face an entire panel of interrogators than the one to which you’re forced to listen.  Your Grand Inquisitor is more devious.  What could be more fiendishly effective than using your weakness to his advantage?

Consider the bait.   You’re given a glimpse of what lies beyond and it fills you with joy, the kind you have rarely experienced since becoming an adult.  As you reach for it, you’re suddenly snared in a net of your own making.  All your self-doubts, malingering ties and paralyzing fears converge and render you powerless.  The more you struggle, the tighter the mesh becomes, until at last,  it squeezes the last breath from you.  You curse your captor, blaming him for your plight, but all he does is laugh.  He’s done virtually nothing, except watch you strangle yourself.


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