Strands of Web

Even now—months later—

I still feel it.

The faint pull of threads I never agreed to wear.

His words, his omissions,

the half-truths spun so carefully

they looked like care.

I have crawled out of the deepest, darkest part of his web—

the sticky lies,

the endless confusion,

the promises of safety that never came.

But sometimes,

I still catch a strand on my sleeve,

or feel one cling to my skin when I least expect it.

It’s thinner now, weaker.

Less every day.

But it’s there.

And God, I am tired.

Tired of peeling back layers of illusion,

of finding yet another piece of him tangled in my nervous system.

Tired of the residue of deception and predation

that doesn’t wash off easily.

People healing from narcissistic or emotionally and psychologically abusive dynamics

often say it takes time to notice, name,

and gently untangle each strand.

Mourning, relief, and even new insights about the past

are all part of that slow unwebbing process—

the long return to freedom.

I know I’m almost there.

But some nights, when I brush against another unseen thread,

I remember how strong the web once was—

and how much strength it took to break free.