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thinking a lot about how I yelled, drank and snotface cried in someone’s face about the things I needed from them to work back up from neglect and then I gave them the same amount of access to me as if those standards did not matter.
I might say, this is the first time I feel like I truly broke my own heart. it’s not my fight to point out what the other person could have done—but knowing what I could have done? what the results would have looked like if I had been betting on myself? devastating.
and it’s a weird spot to be in, uno—factually, many sweet and fun experiences were had. and I honestly wouldn’t trade those specific moments for anything.
it’s the insidious silent, quiet, secret way I constantly chose getting in character trying to acquire someone’s attachment that colors everything so gray. lingering bitterness of “why did you do that?”
where would I be at if I had put the shit down when I first knew I should put it down? I really sat in somebody’s face and chose every day to just paste over myself like so much papier-mâché.
lol, the way I cuuuuursed this mf in my head y’all. coward, spineless, not fucking good enough or gold enough, closed up, cold, withholding— it’s all the smoke I had for myself.
This hurt my chest as a bystander and support system for SO MANY of my friends who did this.
it hurts me every time I remember.
my chest Makeda!
[sigh]
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