A Pool of Tears

Several weeks into the relationship I was sharing my home and my bed with Miles.  There was a feeling of detachment, a disconnection that I was unable to define; at the same time it was as if his presence was intoxicating.  He came at me with the velocity of an eighteen wheeler going ninety miles per hour, a head on collusion, my mind racing faster than my brain could comprehend.  My head was in the clouds, a dim light hovering up above.

     He dressed his conversation with colorful words and tall tales giving the false impression that his life had been lavished with the finer things growing up.  Miles displayed a grandiose attitude, as if he had been feed from golden spoons and eaten off plates dripping with diamonds.

A PooL of Tears

     His name was Miles and he displayed a confident nature, thinking he was the best looking guy in the room (he was not).  The attraction was dismal at best, the conversation coerced.  Instead of cutting this soon to be disaster off at the knees I would continue in the path of a category five hurricane, causing catastrophic damage, trampling fragile minds and destroying precious lives.

A PooL of Tears

   "Matt is not your son, Mark is his father!  I blurted out.

    That random statement unleashed years of dysfunctional family dynamics and chaos.  Unveiling secret acts and horrific abuses committed by the people we trust to love and protect us.  I have spent a lifetime in turmoil, covering up, hiding behind curtains and peeking out window blinds.  That declaration would become the catalyst for my desire to become heathy and unmask a chronic disorder that kept me living in utter pandemonium.  Was this my destiny, would this one day be my life story?