Prisoner of the Past


Prisoner of the Past
“Without forgiveness one remains a prisoner of one’s past” — John Paul II Really?

Where can the anger go when new, fresh events surface in the course of the weeks and months that follow that are more clearly defined by outside sources as crazy-making and abusive.

What can we do when the changes we asked for politely in the past are now thrown violently in our face as being the way it always was? And how can we address the insistence that what our ex did last week, yesterday, a minute ago not only doesn’t matter, it doesn’t count.


How can I ignore the fact that it felt like you punched me in the gut, slowly broke my fingers, pushed me hard off the balcony? The ground cracks and bloats beneath my feet, sending me violently free-falling toward an unknown future.

I am in training to make a jailbreak from the past, but joint custody with the mercurial, non-empathetic, and narcissistic, doesn’t lend itself to great escapes of self-discovery, and the day-to-day toll of disobliging, intentionally cruel interactions makes forgiveness seem unattainable. But I am trying.

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