To hell with you people
I generally try really hard not to say too much when I'm not feeling so great. Mostly because whatever I say is taken badly or what I do have to say is negative, and there's enough negativity out there.
But I'm fed up. I'm tired. I've had it.
So, this is the way I see it...
None of you are my friends. None of you give a damn. I finally understand that.
Human compassion is dead out there. No wonder I'm uncomfortable leaving my own home.
Intolerance is rampant.
Even when I am trying to show compassion, offer a shoulder, give what help I can, I'm going to be knocked down, kicked, and likely left for dead. And then, when I need a little compassion back, you'll bitch that I've made things all about me.
Then, you'll lie about it in such a way as to make yourself a victim of my cruelties. You'll tell other people lies about me so that you can feel better about yourself and the way you treated me.
And you'll lie to me about it, and I won't be able to tell, because you're using words on a screen. You don't have to face me and look me in the eyes.
You're all self-righteous, lying, manipulative, and intolerant.
But, then again, I'm apparently some kind of man-stealing, manipulative, back-stabbing whore, right?
Team with me. Don't team with me. I really don't give a fuck anymore. I don't trust you. I probably don't even like you. The beauty of rp is that I don't have to. I can get into a character's head and just be that person interacting with your character.
You know who I trust? The people who have watched over me when I was suicidal. The people who have helped me up off the floor after I had a breakdown that was usually caused by someone I know online. The people who protect me and know that I'll be there for them, because I have been there for them. The people who will be here when the phone and internet get shut off when we can't afford to pay the bills. People who've proven that they can set our problems aside long enough to help out. People who've earned my damn trust. People who accept me for who I am and don't turn into five year olds when I don't do things their way. People who have kept their rants out of the public eye so that I don't suffer the consequences, because let's face it, every time Steve says anything, I get blamed and held responsible for it.
As for how I feel? What does it matter? If I've learned anything from all of you over the last couple of years, it's that the only feelings that matter are yours. Mine don't count. I get that now. I forgot for a while, but it's clear again.
So fuck you.
I've been eyeing bottles of meds again. Things here are harder than you can see. I know things are hard for everyone. I'm just tired of being an emotional punching bag.
Oh...and if you decide this is all about you and stop talking to me? Fine. Then you were a liar to begin with. This is a rant. This is me getting these dark little flies out of my head, because they're coloring EVERYTHING. This is about MY pain. MINE. It's my fucking turn to have a say. Everyone else seems to have had theirs. I stopped being able to write in my journal months ago, and I seem to do better with an audience to offend. This has been building over the last year, and I need it out of my head.
I'm just so tired and sick and done. The beauty of you not being able to see other people's pain is that you don't have to feel bad or responsible for it when you cause it or amplify it. Why bother putting yourself in anyone else's shoes for a minute or two? Just kick them while they're down so you can feel better, right?
And that's all I am lately. Pain. Walking, talking pain. Wrapped up in it like a shroud. Lost in it. Broken into tiny pieces that people seem to love to stomp on and grind under heel.
So, please take offense to this. Write me off. Leave me alone. Stop making me believe you or that there's hope for the human race or that you're my friends, because you'll just bring me right back to this feeling. And I just want this feeling to stop.
But I'm fed up. I'm tired. I've had it.
So, this is the way I see it...
None of you are my friends. None of you give a damn. I finally understand that.
Human compassion is dead out there. No wonder I'm uncomfortable leaving my own home.
Intolerance is rampant.
Even when I am trying to show compassion, offer a shoulder, give what help I can, I'm going to be knocked down, kicked, and likely left for dead. And then, when I need a little compassion back, you'll bitch that I've made things all about me.
Then, you'll lie about it in such a way as to make yourself a victim of my cruelties. You'll tell other people lies about me so that you can feel better about yourself and the way you treated me.
And you'll lie to me about it, and I won't be able to tell, because you're using words on a screen. You don't have to face me and look me in the eyes.
You're all self-righteous, lying, manipulative, and intolerant.
But, then again, I'm apparently some kind of man-stealing, manipulative, back-stabbing whore, right?
Team with me. Don't team with me. I really don't give a fuck anymore. I don't trust you. I probably don't even like you. The beauty of rp is that I don't have to. I can get into a character's head and just be that person interacting with your character.
You know who I trust? The people who have watched over me when I was suicidal. The people who have helped me up off the floor after I had a breakdown that was usually caused by someone I know online. The people who protect me and know that I'll be there for them, because I have been there for them. The people who will be here when the phone and internet get shut off when we can't afford to pay the bills. People who've proven that they can set our problems aside long enough to help out. People who've earned my damn trust. People who accept me for who I am and don't turn into five year olds when I don't do things their way. People who have kept their rants out of the public eye so that I don't suffer the consequences, because let's face it, every time Steve says anything, I get blamed and held responsible for it.
As for how I feel? What does it matter? If I've learned anything from all of you over the last couple of years, it's that the only feelings that matter are yours. Mine don't count. I get that now. I forgot for a while, but it's clear again.
So fuck you.
I've been eyeing bottles of meds again. Things here are harder than you can see. I know things are hard for everyone. I'm just tired of being an emotional punching bag.
Oh...and if you decide this is all about you and stop talking to me? Fine. Then you were a liar to begin with. This is a rant. This is me getting these dark little flies out of my head, because they're coloring EVERYTHING. This is about MY pain. MINE. It's my fucking turn to have a say. Everyone else seems to have had theirs. I stopped being able to write in my journal months ago, and I seem to do better with an audience to offend. This has been building over the last year, and I need it out of my head.
I'm just so tired and sick and done. The beauty of you not being able to see other people's pain is that you don't have to feel bad or responsible for it when you cause it or amplify it. Why bother putting yourself in anyone else's shoes for a minute or two? Just kick them while they're down so you can feel better, right?
And that's all I am lately. Pain. Walking, talking pain. Wrapped up in it like a shroud. Lost in it. Broken into tiny pieces that people seem to love to stomp on and grind under heel.
So, please take offense to this. Write me off. Leave me alone. Stop making me believe you or that there's hope for the human race or that you're my friends, because you'll just bring me right back to this feeling. And I just want this feeling to stop.
posted by Lela at 2:38 PM
4 comments
