The falling away of out-of-kilter relationships as I immerse myself in writing -- this a good thing.
The manic life I had spun for myself after a peaceful, introspective childhood is a trauma I'm still recovering from. The over-reliance by others on my precocious desire to be their tireless pillar of support; the vampiric sucking of my energy with little to no interest in my interior life; the passive-aggressive acting out of inner cruelities on a pacific soul injured by the duality of mercurial affections -- these were behaviors I forgave in the name of friendship.
Now, as I spend most of my free time blissfully alone, truths break free. Insidious tones of contempt that edge their way to the surface. Animated pretenses of future dates. Confused resentments over no longer occupying center position.
Rebellions were swift. Badgered after I'd made my boundaries clear, I resorted to blunt recourse. Declining a last minute invitation to a weeknight event, I received no calls or invitations since. Bypassed for an annual holiday brunch, I found an obligatory gift at my door, weeks after trees had been recycled and decorations packed away.
Writing is my truth serum. Relationships that always seemed to feel a little "off," that intermittently pushed at hot and cold, that included slipped-in put-downs during everyday conversations -- these are now relics of my misguided past.
Closing the door on draining relationships has left me with phenomenal reserves of energy. Released from the burden of deciphering veiled messages in between mixed signals, I now find myself free ... To create. To love. To be.