The Echo of Abandonment
Old Wounds That Never Heal
I looked at him, his eyes big, piercing blue, framed by long, dark lashes. Eyes that made me want to hand over my heart in a second, hoping he’d hold it safe forever. I was utterly defenseless against him, and it triggered something painfully familiar — a wound buried deep inside. A wound that, despite the passing years, remains unhealed. When touched, it unleashes a pain so profound it paralyzes me. The spirit of life, my happiness, my joy — everything that makes me who I am evaporates. What remains is darkness and despair.
He looked at me then, his face carrying the weight of someone about to deliver bad news.
“I don’t think I’m ready for this right now,” he began. “I wouldn’t be able to give you what you need, but you’re truly an amazing person.”
A compliment that doesn’t feel like much more than a consolation prize. I accepted it graciously. I told him I understood, that I appreciated
his honesty, and that I was still happy we met — all of which was true. I respected the clarity he offered, but none of it stopped the inevitable: the crushing wave of rejection, inferiority, and abandonment that was about to come. I don’t even know if these are separate feelings or if they blend into one overwhelming force, feeding off each other until they’re all consuming.
Many say unhappiness comes from our thoughts, but for me, it feels different. When the abandonment wound is touched, it’s as if a dormant demon awakens — a parasite that begins draining the life out of me. It’s cruel, almost gleeful, in its attack, reveling in my suffering. The ‘me’ that I am — the bright, happy person who always smiles and connects to others effortlessly — disappears. What’s left is a shadow of myself, a version consumed by sadness and hopelessness, with no more goals or dreams.
I’ve experienced this often enough to know it will pass, but when I go through it, that knowledge offers little comfort. It feels like my reason for living has been taken away. And it happens when I connect deeply with someone, often too quickly. I think I’m so deprived of love that when someone finally offers it — and, more importantly, when it comes from
someone I want to receive it from — it becomes everything to me. This connection becomes the foundation of my existence, the cornerstone upon which I build everything else.
As long as they remain, I am more powerful than ever. I thrive in every aspect. Their presence fuels me, propelling me to be my best self. But the moment they withdraw, or even emotionally disconnect, everything crumbles. Before they came along, I was living life perfectly fine, but somehow, the moment they entered my world, they rooted themselves at the base of everything. It’s a dangerous thing, because the moment they pull away, it’s like removing the keystone from an arch — just like that, everything falls apart.
Abandonment — my demon. It lives deep beneath the surface, in a place I cannot reach on my own. Sometimes, it lies dormant for long stretches. But eventually, it resurfaces, brutally reminding me of the deep wound that is still there.
