E.S. writes poetry and fiction for people who survived by adapting until it became a personality. Their work lives in the aftermath, examining quiet violence, emotional endurance, and the damage that forms when survival is mistaken for strength. These are not healing stories so much as psychological autopsies of love, power, and attachment. The tone is dark, restrained, and unsettling in a way that lingers rather than explodes. This work is for anyone who stayed too long, learned too much, and refuses to romanticize what it cost.

Without the Flinch

What relationships have a positive impact on you?

The relationships that help me most are the ones that change how gravity works.

Not the loud, dramatic ones. The quiet ones that don’t rush to stabilize me, don’t grab my arm when I lean too far over the edge. They just stay close enough that I know I won’t disappear if I fall. There’s a difference between being held and being controlled, and the good relationships understand that instinctively.

These are the people who don’t interrupt my patterns just to feel useful. They don’t confuse care with correction. They let me circle the same thoughts, tell the same story from a new angle, sit inside contradictions without demanding resolution. They know that repetition isn’t stagnation. Sometimes it’s how the nervous system learns it survived.

The best relationships also don’t need me to be narratable. I don’t have to package my pain into something inspirational or tidy. I can show up unfinished. Mid-thought. Mid-collapse. And nothing about the bond feels threatened by that. No scorekeeping. No silent recalculations.

What makes them positive isn’t that they make life lighter. It’s that they make it bearable without distortion. I don’t have to pretend I’m stronger than I am or weaker than I am. I can exist at my actual weight.

And that kind of relationship doesn’t change who I am.

It just removes the need to constantly brace for impact.

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