The Detox | Withdrawals from a Trauma Bond

I didn’t know our separation would feel like this.

Like tearing bone from skin,

Like pulling teeth from the soul,

One by one, in silence,

No anesthetic but time.

Like battling crazy impulses

That seemed brilliant at the time.

The text I almost sent,

The drive I almost made,

The lie I almost told myself

Just to feel wanted again.

You were my sweetest poison.

I drank you down like hope-ium,

Hit after hit,

Mistaking the burn for warmth,

Mistaking the ache for love.

Because hope,

Hope is as addictive as any drug.

It hijacks the brain,

Floods the veins,

Convinces you that maybe this time

Will finally be different.

And when I finally turned away,

The hunger screamed.

It clawed through my veins,

Gnawed at my spine,

Howled for your cruelty dressed as comfort.

Sleep left me.

Food tasted of nothing.

Tears came without warning.

Not for you, but for the hollow

You carved out and called connection.

Days stretched thin and trembled.

Nights split open with memories

I didn’t want to keep

but couldn’t yet release.

I thought letting go would look cleaner,

Braver.

I thought it would sound like closure

Instead of screaming into pillows,

Instead of shaking hands and bitten lips.

But this is the truth of it:

Healing isn’t light at first.

It’s weight.

It’s absence.

It’s breaking open in places no one can see.

It’s learning to bleed without witnesses.

Some days I still reach without meaning to.

Some nights I still dream you back into my bones.

Some mornings I wake with the ache half-formed,

Already fading,

Already less.

It loosens slowly,

Fingers unclenching one at a time,

Thread by thread,

Memory by memory,

Until there’s space enough to breathe without you.

And someday—

I won’t ache or bargain.

I won’t wake and reach.

I’ll just breathe.

And love me.

Sincerely and safely.

Fully.