The Thing in the Basement

You know how in horror movies, when someone is abducted and kept in a house, it’s always a locked door that leads down to a basement, which leads to another door, which leads to a long dimly lit hallway, and then to another door where the person actually is?

And then every so often in those movies, the person who was abducted manages to escape the room. They make it through the hallway, up out of the basement, and to the front door of the house. Sometimes they even make it a few steps into the yard before they’re captured again and dragged back down.

That’s what my attachment feels like.

Like it’s the abducted person.

Locked away behind doors. Bursting through to escape every now and then, only to be dragged back down again.

But while it’s down there, I can hear it.

The pounding on the door.

The screams for help.

Like someone is inside the house trying to get out.

It’s as if I’m being haunted by my own attachment.

And I can feel parts of me, very dominant parts, not wanting to discuss it. Wanting to ignore it. But that’s what I did the first time, and by the time I started talking about it, it was already too late.

Right now it feels like I’m pressed between two boulders and they’re just slowly squeezing in on me.