People are like dirt. They can either nourish you and help you grow as a person or they can stunt your growth and make you wilt and die.

I’m not going to give up on you. I’m not going to leave you. I’m not going anywhere. I’d never abandon you. It’ll be okay.

Before you get close to me, I have to let you know, that I am not like other girls.
At first, I will be crazy about you, I will try my hardest to lure you into my life. I will romanticize about you, I will magnify your beauty and minimize your flaws. My whole life will be about you, and my happiness will depend on your approval.
But this infatuation, it’s blind darling, because once the honeymoons over, your flaws become intolerable and your beauty will slowly fade in my eyes.
The emptiness in my soul will start to arrise again, the emptiness that uses infatuation for fullness.
You’re a drug that starts to lose it’s power, and I begin to seek for a better hit, elsewhere.
The love and security you give me will feel too heavy for me, until I withdraw at a distance.
You will keep trying your hardest to please me baby, but you can’t.
For I already have my eyes on somebody else; some fresh medicine to help plaster the void my father left me.

PTSD sufferers with a primary or secondary flight response frequently overreact to their tiredness with workaholic or busyholic action. They run so compulsively from their depression, that they eventually exhaust themselves physically, and at times become too depleted or sick to continue running. When this occurs, they collapse into an experience of abandonment so painful, that they re-launch desperately into “flight” speed at the first sign of replenished adrenalin. I have witnessed a number of such clients misdiagnose themselves as bipolar because of the extremes that ensue from desperately pursuing the adrenalin high and eschewing the abandonment low.