Escaping others was easy. In fact, I had mastered the art. I didn’t care what they said, felt or the way they acted. I was snooty and I flaunted it. Ironically, I couldn’t escape myself. Somehow. I found that the more I tried, the deeper entrenched I got in my selfish ideas. This caused me far too much agony. It obstructed normalcy, whatever that meant. I needed to find a way out though I wasn’t willing to put an effort into the search. The repetitive circle I had drawn was the opposite of simple to absolve myself from. Truthfully, I was drowning in quick sand which further weakened me.
But the weakness drew me close. It promised me companionship. It whispered intimate things in my ears. I drew vicious pleasure out of remaining in that fate. There seemed no other way to quench the pain. I felt an ache reaching out to me and I caved. I heard its voice and I rushed to its side. I am tempted once in a while to take a giant leap of faith in the future and set myself free of this bad habit. The sadistic part of me gripped my mind; I lingered as I waited for the masochism to leave me. I effectively did nothing to make it leave. I just watched it eat at my spirit inch by inch.
I couldn’t escape yet.