Stockholm Syndrome describes the behavior of kidnap victims who, over time, become sympathetic to their captors. The name derives from a 1973 hostage incident in Stockholm, Sweden. At the end of six days of captivity in a bank, several kidnap victims actually resisted rescue attempts, and afterwards refused to testify against their captors. It generally refers to a cluster of symptoms often observed in hostages, cult members, battered women and victims of sexual and physical abuse.
The symptoms include:
* Emotional bonding with the captor/abuser
* Seeking favor and approval from the perpetrator
* Depending on the perpetrator for security and purpose of existence
* Befriending and caring for the captor
* Resenting police and proper authorities for their rescue attempts
* Losing one's own identify in order to identify with the captor/abuser
* Seeing things from the perspective of the perpetrator
* Valuing every small gesture of kindness, such as letting them live
* Refusing to seek freedom even given the opportunity
Funny enough, in my last relationship, I exhibited many symptoms of the Stockholm Syndrome.
Let me wax dramatic for a moment:
After a perilous beginning, where I frantically struggled against your captivity, I somehow fell helpless. You always knew you could talk yourself into my heart, even towards the end, when words were all I had to sustain my thirst; words that dripped from your mellifluous tongue, like saccharine syrup onto the tip of mine, parched but grateful.
I lapped up your droppings, making excuses for the scarcity. How many excuses I made for you, blaming myself when you shunned me. So I changed myself so that I was more appealing. I dressed in ways that I thought would please you. I acted in manners that would make you proud. I turncoated against my big grey trenchcoat and started to strut little pink skirt ensembles, tittering in affected feminine charm. I studied your interests: poker, billiards, even finance and materialism. If I had been in my right mind, this would have been below degradation.
Then you decided to set me free. You decided you were done, and you cast me aside. You can afford better accessories now. But I refuse the freedom. Even now, I only talk of you on anonymous blogs to protect your name. Even now, I adamently insist that you've enriched my level of human experience. Even if that means damning humanity in its entirety.
Dear Captor, fuck you, I love you.
Ahem, now back to my normative state of detachment.
previous - next