No Escape From Angry Men

If what we tolerate truly is what we deserve, does our agony mean we were meant to suffer through it? To endure the ache, accept a ruthless fate, and set aside what we feel simply to keep loving them? It is a tragedy when the desire to be loved hushes us into surrender, compelling us to believe we are fine—even while we unravel from within.

But what can we do? We long for a love that may not even exist. And as time cages us with attachment, escape remains within sight—if only we had the courage to walk right through it.

I was raised by no-show and berating men. I was conditioned to fear glass plates, ticking time, and planned dates. I was taught to forgive their anger, to silence my own, and to build my walls high—until I was trapped inside them, labeled only as short-tempered, harsh, and insensitive.

But beneath it all, they stand far from the truth. All I ever wanted was to be loved softly. I wanted to feel safe, as though the whole world were my sanctuary. I wanted my anger to be understood without guilt, by someone who knows where my bitterness came from—someone who sees that I am trying to be gentle, too.

I never rationed myself—I tried to love without limits in the desperate hope that someone might return it softly enough to heal the ache beneath my skin. Yet with every encounter, the bars tightened with manipulation and rage. And though I see them clearly, I stay. Despite the bruises dressing my chest, the faults trapping my guilt, and the tones deafening my pride, I sit still in the enclosure.

I knew it from the very beginning, yet I still choose to believe in second chances. The words you used haunted my soul. Your arguments twisted every fault until it belonged to me. Yet I held onto the stubborn hope that we would be rewritten—that every clattering word would someday understand the other, that every shouted insult and weeping silence would finally harmonize into peace.

But the terror of reaching for you had kept me awake for so long that I tried to break free—to let go, to lose you. I fled on bleeding feet across the brittle glass we always stood on, the ground I tried so carefully not to shatter. And just when I thought I had finally kept my distance, I found myself back inside your perimeter, willing to become your everything once again. I thought I was running away, only to find my feet turning back toward you. I caught a glimpse of an exit, only to watch it slowly fade into the dark, leaving me trapped—willingly burning for a love that incinerates me.

I want to resent you the way I resent those who showed me pain first—and yet, I find myself longing for their embrace, all the same.

Perhaps that is why there is no escape. Perhaps all I ever wanted was to be loved—or to convince myself that I am loved. And because I was molded to endure this kind of affection, I fear these walls are the only sanctuary I will ever know.