If you stick with this, then good for you. If not, then this blog was just one of many wrong clicks you’ll experience in a lifetime of operating the interwebs. And frankly, I don’t give a shit either way.
Thus begins the journey of my truths.
Recently, I’ve taken steps and measures of prevention to disable a lot of bullshit that’s been sloshing up against my windows, and in order for me to do so properly, my fingers need to dance it out.
From the age of 15, I’ve come to know a sense of completion associated with having “best friends.” I’ve been through fights, disagreements, thrown fists, heartbreaks but what’s more important is surprisingly, none of those. I’ve lived through the survival of what comes if all is meant to be, and nothing in this world makes me stronger than seeing an investment earn a return.
To define “investment” and “return” in friend-speak, it’s simple. It’s clean. It’s easy. If I am willing to lay this body - blood and bone, flesh and organs, thoughts and certainly fears - down on the fast track of steel and devastating death, I need to know it’s not in vain. It’s not a difficult concept, nor is it a petty request.
Back tracking somewhat through the years of doubt and mud slinging, I’ve known betrayal and I’ve known it well enough to know that it just happened to me again, for the final time. I was “that girl” who “cared too much” or would “give you the shirt off her back” in a split second. Funny thing? I’m still that girl. But none with a faint heart can handle that, and my respect for your opinions is strong and I certainly understand where you may be coming from. Or, what you say to yourselves to make it easier. Either way, I’m not for everyone, and it becomes more and more clear with every rising sun meeting it’s set, that I don’t care.
I am exactly who I’ve always been. I love with a passion and fury few have or will ever know. I hold on too tight. I refuse to let go 90% of the time, and I never, never back down from a fight I know will lead to a clean win for both parties involved.
But I see a failing example of what could have been just as easy as a man slipping into a drunken oblivion may wonder, “Did I really do this to myself?” And yes, I did. I admit my shortcomings and my false accusations of what I had hoped too much for to be true. But you know what is the absolute hilarious part? I’m human.
Last I checked, I was born to make mistakes. To choose darkened paths so I fall, scrape my knees and fight my way back up. I wasn’t born perfect, nor do I have any grand illusions that I am indeed, infallible. I hate pedestals, rewards and useless credit for things I deserve, because it’s my nature. In this most recent blow to my pride and my reasoning for being “overly emotional” (remember, human) I was blinded by a choice I made a while back that I was gravely mistaken. I’m not sorry I give a shit. I’m not sorry I piss people off. I’m not sorry that I lead myself down a dead end road with blinders on. I’m not sorry for a fucking thing. I did all a good person could possibly do, and my return was less than graceful.
And I am not okay. I’m hurt. I’m hurt because I was betrayed with words behind my back. Words I never expected to hear from lips I trusted would always tell me the truth. I will give the benefit of the doubt, or I would have. But my logical conclusions and substantiated opinions fell on deaf ears.
I would have cared. Honestly, I would have. But words cut me open like a Thanksgiving turkey awaiting it’s untimely demise, and this will never change. If you know me, you should know this. But seeing is believing, and my eyes were burned open to a truth that makes me sick. After this truth, I found I was misguided in my thoughts that one had in fact, known what kind of person I am. And that is okay. I can live with myself even if you can’t accept that.
What pains me the most is how it doesn’t affect the object of my fleeting fingers tonight. Nor has it ever. It’s a wound that is growing larger with each and every passing word that my hands type faster than thoughts can offer. I cared. Fiercely, and unconditionally.
But that’s over now, and as time passes I’m sure I’ll get over it, just like I have the innumerable amount of times this has happened to me in the past. Perhaps this may sounds full of conceit and unfounded opinions, but they are mine, and they are true to a life I’ve experienced.
Remember me if not for anything other than my ability to be the single most honest and genuine person that any of you will ever meet.
Do I care too much? Who gives a fuck. How about we ask why one might care too little.
[as a side note, I'd like to thank Andrew, for without him, I'd have never met my match in life]
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