Knowing

I always wanted to know. Whatever it might be, I wanted to know it.

I wanted to know about sex. I wanted to know what was shown in a rated -R movie. I wanted to know what it was like to smoke. I wanted to know what it was like to drink. I want to know what people think of me.

I couldn’t take anybody’s word for it. That has caused me a lot of pain. 

I was in therapy a while back with a therapist who was tough on me, and I didn’t respond well to it, but she said the truth a lot and I remember it.

She told me the story of her adopted son. He was from Russia, he was a little older when they adopted him, and he had attachment disorder.

One night he slipped out of the house and went to a friend’s house to watch tv. On foot…not far. I don’t know that I condone this, but they called the police. They wanted to impress upon him how serious it was to leave the house at night without them knowing where he was. The police officer spoke to him and at the end of it said that since the adoption wasn’t final, they could deport him. 

 

He cried out, ‘I knew it! I knew you would send me back!’

Like I said, I don’t condone it….but I have thought of it a lot and I think I have done that in relationships. I felt insecure and I acted out of that insecurity and created a climate of repelling people. I sought answers and when I found them…

In the end, I thought ‘see, I knew it all along.’ She wasn’t acting in my best interests. He didn’t love me. They don’t love me. I knew it, I knew it. 

I think I might be wrong. 

Knowing

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