The Toxic You

I thought I knew what being around toxicity was like.

I was wrong.

Toxicity, for those that have not tasted it does not taste like poison.

It tastes like nectar. It is oxygen to a drowning man.

If you have not been there, you don’t know.

You can’t.

It blinds the senses, rewrites your thoughts, changes your environment.

Facts don’t matter, to either side. What matters is the distortion field. The alternative reality created by people with twisted perception.

Was I also toxic?

Almost certainly.

Both sides went into this with our eyes open and plucked out our eyes in the process.

I can feel a piece of myself dying, as I lose myself in someone else.

It is the nagging doubt, the itch you cannot scratch, the slow death of one’s identity and soul.

Toxicity is the last hit of smack before the promise to quit, huddled in a city center shop doorway.

Toxicity is a shot whisky in your car at 10AM in a parking lot.

Toxicity is the entire tub of double fudge ice cream, eaten in a single sitting, on the couch, with a spoon, and after dinner.

What is often forgotten is that the lack of toxicity does not mean that a healthy world view is left.

What is left is a hole.

A void where personality, interaction, and what felt like love

lived.

Do they think they are toxic? Are people just people?

Like mixing ammonia and bleach, some things just don’t go together.

And like chlorine gas, we drive others away.

We can’t be told what everyone else knows.

“But…”

there is always an excuse. A reason why reason does not apply.

At rock bottom, all one can see are stones.

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