The Dysfunctional Dance

Have you ever danced with dysfunction? Mamboed with a manipulator? Did the two-step with a twisted mind?

It may have started out fun. There you were with your two left feet being dragged onto the dance floor…maybe feeling a little uncomfortable but telling yourself you would follow their lead? You wanted to belong. Didn’t want to end up being the wallflower that sat alone and unloved. Told yourself to open up to new experiences, let go, have some fun. Push past the discomfort. Ignore those feelings.

Every time you manged not to step on your partner’s feet, you won their praise and began to feel pretty good about the whole thing. Soon your confidence began to grow. This wasn’t so bad after all. You even bought yourself a new pair of shoes which drew more praise from your dance partner.

Soon little endorphins began to tap dance within brain. For every step your partner took, you followed, keeping up with their beat.

Sometimes the two of you would dance to a new song…just to try something new. A hand would be placed on your hip. Who are you to say anything, you with your two left feet? Where would you be without your partner? Sitting alone against the wall, that’s where. You want to end up back there? Didn’t think so. A hand on the hip doesn’t seem so bad. It’s all part of the dance, after all.

You are only dancing, right? I mean everyone dances. Why shouldn’t you put your hand on your partner’s hip as well? Seems only right seeing as if they hadn’t taken the time out of their busy schedule when they could be dancing with someone who really knows what they are doing….you want to learn how to do this or not you worthless two left footed thing? You think new shoes make a difference? You think anyone else is going to want to dance with a moron like you?

My dance partner must know what they are talking about, after all, I know nothing about this dance and they are so very experienced. They can get a much better dancer and I’m just being silly. It’s just touching after all. People touch when they dance, right?

You notice that you are getting further and further away from the others on the dance floor. You understand it is because you are inexperienced and you don’t want to bump into anyone or cause any trouble. And it pleases your partner. And that makes you feel good, right?

Dancing is hot work and clothes get in the way, you are told. At least if you want to learn how to express yourself fully. You have the soul of an artist and you are told that they want to help you realize your full potential. Hmmn. Well I thought you were different. Special. Guess I was wrong. Oh, please, no, no….I want to be special. I want to learn. I want to belong. I don’t want to be an outcast.

It’s expression. It’s only art. It’s not at all anything dirty. My partner is so good to teach me so much. I just have to get over these pesky feelings of my inhibitions. Just get over it, I’m told. My partner knows what he is doing. When they are not happy, nothing is right. It’s up to me to keep them happy. I have been told not to make them unhappy.

Soon you are in a room alone with them. The music has stopped. You see the truth in their eyes but it is too late. You have chosen to go into this room. You have chosen to remove your clothes. You have chosen to touch them. I don’t understand. I was just dancing. I was only dancing. You said it was right.

Your endorphins have now shuffled off to Buffalo and are being replaced at an alarming speed by adrenaline. You freeze. Unable to move anywhere.

And they tell you… cannot leave this room….if you do….nobody will believe anything that a clumsy, pathetic wall-flower….and a naked one at that….has to say.

I am, after all…..the master of the dysfunctional dance…..people revere me and bow when they see me. You…..are a fool. You are disposable. And if you leave this room….I will destroy you.

And then the people outside of this room will destroy you. And you will want to destroy yourself.

Because you know you wanted this. Why else would you have ended up here like this?

Then they turn on you. You know what….get out of here. You are making me very uncomfortable and I don’t know what you are talking about. Why would I have asked you to dance? You must be delusional. I’m too good for you. This is ridiculous……I’m calling security. I have a whole staff here that will back me up and protect me from crazy people like you…..

The Dysfunctional Dance…..aka Dancing with the Devil in black.

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