The Addiction of Belonging – Approval is addictive drug

 “A truly strong person does not need the approval of others any more than a lion needs the approval of sheep.” – Vernon Howard

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There are purveyors of affection and belonging that ply their wares on the corner of our mind and emotions. Like the dealers who sell illicit and addictive substances, they, with great subtlety, offer tidbits of friendship that draw the lonely, hurting, or naive soul into their game.  Society today generates many deformities of social maturity. Single parent families, domestic abuse, molestation, and apathetic parenting leave many souls thirsty for belonging, for approval, and for a sense of family. This “drug” of approval is not an illegal sort, it is nonetheless, just as deadly.

Once the hook is set through approval, and acceptance is feigned in the “family”(the group or persons the searching heart wished to belong to), pressure is exerted to perform the will of the those who possess the “fix” of affection. The “addict” is drawn further away from their own independence and individuality and is conformed to the will of the “dealer”. Eager for approval, the walls of inhibition are broken down and the victim finds their choices of right and wrong becoming choices of the lesser of two evils. Gangs operate this way, drawing in the young, unwary, and inexperienced souls, transforming them into soldiers ready to obey their command. In a sexual relationship the same effect is accomplished. The end result is the dissolution of individuality and the creation of an extremely unhealthy social interaction that ends in the destruction of the victim, either physically, through death, emotionally, through heartache, or through social isolation and imprisonment to a partners will.

To break free from this cycle and bondage, the victim, the “addict”, must exert his/her individuality at any cost. The victim must stand on their own beliefs and moral decisions. Depending on how deep their involvement may be, this could be a costly and life changing act. When the victim is in too deep, it may well cost them their life to escape the hold of that “family”. But, breaking that hold is a must, an imperative, for without that break, there exists only a life of imprisonment and eventual misery and regret as the suppliant gives away their life for the selfish goal of another. Be careful my friends that you don’t find yourself in this hidden addiction of belonging. Choose your friends wisely and be sure to stand on your own ground. 

Also published in Broowaha

06252012 

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End Of Night – Not all is good at the end of night

“Sometimes you wake up from a dream. Sometimes you wake up in a dream. And sometimes, every once in a while, you wake up in someone else’s dream. ”
― Richelle Mead, Succubus Blues

 

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Again the Succubus calls, answered by my willing compliance. At the end of night, leading her further down the cluttered path, I grab her by the hand and take the fake offerings, momentary escapes void of relief. Grabbing her, my Savior, “Please speak kind to me, sooth my ache and dark thirst.” There are no companions in this empty pursuit, I barely make it out alive, who will follow me in my destruction? Holding the works of addiction, I set up a fix that never satisfies, only to do it again and again before the end of night. Many will lead me there, then abandon my desperate body to its agonies of thought. There are no tomorrows in this never land, dreams are abandoned on the altar of deprecation. The birds sing, announcing their joy of the morning. Their spectators that look on, mocking the death of ambition and hope, increasing my dread that comes at the end of night.  Shake yourself my drugged soul, find your escape and run from the pain that finds you; a great price is paid in the dressings of celebrations that go on until the end of night. Caught again by the arrows of habit, striking me with precision through the errant presumption of safe chambers that open in the end of night. With no deliverance, shackles bind tighter with each twitch of resistance. To relieve myself of these panicked flights, I seek sleep, now stolen, hidden from my ever reaching mind; yet, I fight, until the end of night.

Also published in Broowaha Citizen Magazine

05112012