THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟺 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚍𝚘𝚐

tw: fighting, disturbing topics.

Black dog: a metaphor to describe melancholy and depression. 

Old habits die hard: used to say it is hard to stop doing things that one has been doing for a long time

"old habits die screaming"

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚🐾₊˚ෆ

They say old habits die hard.

Mine died screaming.

With Joe, I developed a paranoia of paparazzi, constantly evading them, isolating myself from friends...

Now here I am again, cocooned in a ball of despair, my cats providing silent comfort as tears cascade down my cheeks. I can't continue like this. I need to reclaim control of my life, to break free from his grip.

He cheated anyway, with his insipid co-star. So why am I still struggling to move on? Why?I choke back sobs, clutching my phone with trembling hands, desperately seeking any distraction from the turmoil consuming me.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚🐾₊˚ෆ

"Joe, we need to talk," I said, my voice steady as I washed off the dishes.

"About what?" His reply was rushed, avoiding eye contact as I took his plate.

I pulled the lip gloss out from my pocket and slammed it onto the table. 

"Whose is this?" I demanded, trying to maintain my composure.

"What? What's that?" He feigned innocence, though I could see through his facade.

"You know what it is. I found it in the junk drawer." My gaze hardened, frustration building within me.

"I don't know, Taylor. Are you going crazy? You must have bought that."

"No, I didn't. I don't wear lip gloss, and if I did, I'd never buy something this cheap." My anger simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

"You're overreacting," he said, rising from the table.

"I'm not! You're cheating, Joe, and I know it!" My voice rose with each word, my frustration reaching its peak.

At the mention of cheating, he whipped around, pinning me against the wall.

"You don't have proof," he growled, his grip tightening on my hands.

"Let go of me!"

"I'm your boyfriend, I can do whatever I want," he retorted, a smug grin spreading across his face. 

"I could do anything I want to you."

"You wouldn't..."

I seized the opportunity when his grip loosened and broke free, bolting from the room.

I should have left then.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚🐾₊˚ෆ

I sat up from my curled ball, determination surging through me. No more wallowing in misery over a man who didn't deserve my tears. I swiftly dialed Jack's number, my heart racing with 

anticipation. He answered on the third ring, his voice filled with surprise.

"Hey Jack, want to go out to dinner? I've got a couple of ideas I'd like to run by you," I said, my 

words laced with newfound excitement.

"You? Inviting me out? It's been ages! I'd love to," he exclaimed, his enthusiasm contagious.

"Fantastic! I'll shoot you the details," I replied, feeling a sense of empowerment bubbling inside me.

"I've really missed you, Taylor."

"Likewise, Jack."

With a renewed sense of purpose, I hung up and hurried to the bathroom. I changed into a sleek black top and jeans adorned with delicate butterfly motifs, a subtle nod to my newfound freedom. I styled my hair and applied makeup, feeling more confident with each brushstroke.

Before heading out, I penned a final note on a napkin.

"I kept on hanging on

to imaginary rope

lassoed round those old memories

tied a knot so tight

that i can't let you go

even though you let go of me

all this desperation

that I feel inside my bones  

my hands keep reaching out in the dark

the only explanation

the only thing I know.

the distance that ripped us apart." 

- THE CHAIRMAN OF THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT.

I liked that title. Chairman. I smiled and set the pen down.