She was fighting a devil kind of a man. The one who wouldn’t let her go without a fight but not in a romantic way. Not in the way you see in the movies. No one understood so she just kept trying to explain, while suffocating on her own words. His face was everywhere in crowds, his eyes were everywhere and his ears were always listening. He programmed her triggers neurologically, like a computer would with a code. It was almost involuntarily when she reacted. It was almost as if she was his slave even out of his presence.
Those hands were playing puppet master as she tried to escape the strings, only to end up appearing as a tangled mess. And that was the plan. To make her grievances sound so delusional, no one would believe someone could possibly go to such lengths to torment someone. But it’s amazing what rejection and jealousy can do to a man. It’s amazing what people will do for control over other people’s emotions.
She was once helpless. Torn to little bits of pieces and then pieces of little bits until she forgot who she was. Everyone she loved told how awful she was by everyone he told how awful she was to. The cycle went on for the sake of preserving his own mask. And she hated herself, blamed herself, shackled herself to the walls of the depths of a shameful despair so he could live this facade. She lost blood, an unlived life, her health and her happiness was no longer a priority: survival was.
And yet some still believed all the puppet masters. Until their faces appeared on front page news, until something horrific happened, until she showed some kind of undeniable proof. Proof which could be seen by their judgmental eyes but at the cost of scaring hers. And yet no one hardly asked: how many nights did she have to cry for no good reason? How many nights did she have to feel disbelieved and unloved? One too many. So she asks with a silenced whisper to just let her be. Just let her be.