Fuck All Else
Take it personal. Take it personal when you always check up on people who never check up on you. Take it personal when those who said they’d be there hard times never pull thru. Take it personal when they don’t show gratitude and support towards your success. Especially when they try to rekindle only when you start doing better, without them. Take it personal.
Everything is finally coming in to place yet I still don’t feel anything but numbness. I don’t feel happy. I don’t feel sad. It’s as if I’m just coexisting and living my life in autopilot. Everything I wanted now I have yet I don’t care enough to congratulate myself or be happy for, simply me. If anything I’m just angry at the fact that I had to do it alone.
Who knew that the top would get so lonely. That’s what no one tells you. I wish I felt more and wanted more but what is the meaning of anything if the costs comes with consequences? I suffered lifetimes enduring pain deeper than flesh wounds. I wanted it to end. I wanted the pain to end. I wanted to end my own life. No one checks up on you and expect you to always check in on them.
Once I started becoming angrier I realized that no one care genuinely about me. Only what I offered. Whether it’s my undying loyalty, money, clout, drugs, alcohol even all the love I had within me. I was watering dead droughts. When I didn’t have anything, no one loved me. When I was alone, crying myself to sleep every night wondering why I kept getting abandoned, no one held me. When I was shoving sleeping pills chasing it with a bottle, no one showed me mercy. When I was raped, no one helped me. When I got pregnant, I was left to deal with all the broken pieces alone.
Deep in my weakened heart, I prayed and wish upon something special happening. I always feared I wasn’t healthy enough to have a baby to survive. I’ve always had miscarriages. And God gave me a boy I couldn’t even keep. I suffered hell. I had to watch and feel the pain of losing my child. Losing all that blood just to lose a part of me. I think about it and him everyday. How alone I felt and sometimes I think most, I just sit there and wondered how grateful and graceful I’d be. To be his mother. To love and mold him with love. Only cherish his being with love. I was alone.
No one tells you your mid 20s would be difficult. They don’t tell you that your friends you considered your day ones would split in half and betray you for no good reason at all. I stayed up and watched and prayed for people who were just lurking in the shadows behind closed doors praying; for me to fail. For me to lose. For those who are reading this by chance; if you spoke ill on my name because we had a fall out, go to hell disrespectfully! You did not deserve my love. My pure intentions.
I’d wish these mfs the best but I was the fucking best! People I’d kill for couldn’t even live for me. I don’t want any love if I’m not drowning in it. I don’t need half ass friends, who is only half there or not there at all. Even in the depths of loneliness and horrible thoughts of suicide, I’m still here. I’m still fighting the battle of something I might not be able to hold off on.
What’s striking is I pay attention to it all. How people approach me, how they talk to me and belittle me or praise me. After two mf years, after I moved from the place that caused me living hell. Mfs want to hit me up like we got shit to talk about. This ain’t a reunion. Fuck you talking about. Ex lovers, ex boyfriends—ex best friends, you name it. Why was it after two years of them being silent now reaching out?
‘Cos mfs forgot I was made out of a struggle. I can make nothing into something and everything every mf time. What is truly saddening is people my age will never have respect or the loyalty I bring. So why should I lessen my value as a person because a mf wasn’t raised to be solid? And that’s what mfs want, somebody solid when they ain’t! Mfs really want you on your knees when they can’t even stay 10 toes down for you.
It’s weird to me. I would never eat with people who didn’t starve with me. And it’s about to even get funnier. I think I find joy out of being successful as a way to seek revenge. I soak in peoples regrets of losing me. I know what I offer, I’m the same friend who would give advice and walk miles to someone’s house to cheer them up, take them on drives. Oh you want to drink and cry about it? I’m down! I’m the girlfriend that’s funny, down to earth, LOYAL and a great chef and I know my cars. I can be your best friend, your wife and your mechanic/chef.
Nothing material will define me by. I don’t have to sit here and talk about how good of a person I know I am. My actions have proved itself time and time again. What I hate most is failing. It explains why I had to just give up on the failing relationships that no longer served me happiness. It became draining. I expect everything even to the T of relationships to be fixed. I try to fix people like they’re cars and art projects. What I have a hard time realizing is people cannot be fixed.
As many times as I try to be there for everyone, I had to watch them leave me. Time after time, even that gets draining. When I’m not consoled in times of desperate need. All my love and sadness turns to hate. Then the denial, then I brainwash myself to delete and erase the memories of people who once brought me endless joy. I forget the existent because I forgave the hurt that was buried. The burdens it brought me.
What gutted me the most was all of that falling out and all that moving was because I wanted to be loved and I thought I had found my soulmate. I thought I was saving someone who was surely killing me. As I tried to get closer, I was daggered deeper. It’s true. When you are in a karmic bond, trauma bond with someone, it’s hard to leave.
Believe me I tried so many times. But like I said, I don’t like failing even though it feels like this already has. Being emotionally, mentally and psychically abused. Still. Some days it hurts less and there’s good moments. It’s like a drug. The highs are so high but the lows are so low. I’ve never loved anyone the way I am loving now. The lies, the manipulation, the micro cheating. The drinking. The blackouts, the abuse from drinking. After awhile your body goes into fight or flight mode. The getting caught doing drugs in the bathroom then was shift blamed on to me. Minutes turned into hours turned into days and nights where I was tormented. No matter the setting. No matter how hard I walk on eggshells.
Always getting accused and then love-bombed. It’s hard to express how to feel. When the person who brought you the most chaos and pain is always also the person who comforts you. I’ve never loved or hurt over someone like this before. It makes me think I’ve lost my purpose and sparkle.
The sad thing is I don’t know how to leave. I don’t know how bad it will get. I tried to get help and nothing seems to actually help. Legally, by law. It’s gotten to the point where what I actually feel is anhedonia. I’ve lost the ability to feel. Deeply. Someone who used to be an empath no longer feels anything.
The friends I called friends didn’t care to check up on me when I decided at the time this was what I wanted. No one called to check if I was okay after being hit by a drunk driver. No one asked because no one cared. Half my family was more disappointed I had left what no longer made me happy to go find my new definition of happy. My parents, my poor parents think I’m okay and I’m happy. I’m not.
I feel more lost as I accomplish more. Life has lost its meaning. I love, love. I love to be loved. But when you are traumatized at a young age by what definition of love is shown to you before your brain is even able to digress the split milliseconds of real love, your love as an adult looks dysfunctional. All the love I was given was complied or complained about. The love I was taught was painful love. Even as an adult now, the child in me that never truly healed because she’s still dying to feel loved without it hurting.
I’m always taking care of everything of everyone. For once I want God to send me someone who will take care of me.
I can give myself everything. All the love. All the success and accomplishments. I have so many degrees, certificates and trophies to show how far I’ve came along. What is life without the reality of love? I want more. I want to heal more, I want to grow more. I want genuine and passionate love. All above sexual.
I want something and someone so real I can share my life with for all eternity. The loyalty of all eternity. I want to build a foundation so I can build a family. I want to break generational curses.
I want my little family to sprout from the pounds of love I watered them with.
What is life any more, if I have no one to share it with?