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The Resource Controller Horror Movie

When the one holding the resources can turn their back at any moment, the body learns horror. But there’s a way out.

Monday, August 18, 2025

Neglect Control Sovereignty

Metaphorical Narrative

Imagine living in a horror movie where the villain doesn’t chase you with a knife — they just hold all the resources.

They have the fabric, the food, the keys. You depend on them. You ask for what you need, and they could say yes, no, or nothing at all. Any moment, they can turn their back on you.

For me, it was a dress with a burn mark. I asked for a pocket to cover it, the fabric was right there, the fix was simple. But instead of yes or no, I got silence. Again and again. Until one day I saw the same fabric used for her own scarf.

That’s when the horror movie hit: she could fix me, but didn’t. The resources existed, just not for me.

Core Insight

Neglect is painful. But neglect combined with dependence becomes terror.

When the one you rely on can flip from giver to denier without reason, your body learns: “My safety is fragile. I can be cut off at any time.” That’s why memories like this stick like barbed wire. They’re not just sadness — they’re survival alarms.

But here’s the truth: that movie was real then, but it’s not real now. Today, the script flips. You are not trapped in the controller’s hands. You carry your own resources, your own fabric, your own power to stitch.

The horror dissolves when you see: no one controls my life fabric anymore but me.

Saturday Experiment

Try this practice to flip the horror movie:

  1. Identify one “burned spot.” A small flaw, inconvenience, or place you’ve been waiting on someone else.
  2. Claim the resource. Ask yourself: What do I already have in my hands? What fabric is mine?
  3. Take one stitch. Do something small to repair, decorate, or reclaim it. Whisper: “I stitch my own pocket. I am my own resource.”

Sunday Reflection

When the “resource controller” horror rises in your body, what old scene is it replaying?

If the controller turned their back, how did that shape your trust in asking?

What shifts when you see yourself not as trapped in their control — but as the one who never turns their back on you?