There I was tolerating a world I wanted no part of, witnessing people to things that disgusted me, things that went against every fiber of my being. And, regardless of how much I hated everything that surrounded me, it consumed me; I despised it, yet loved it; I distasted it, yet tolerate it… it was twisted! It was a love-hate kind of situation. All too familiar of a concept, now that I think about it. Ironic in a sense. It was my reality, but inverted.
Like I said in the beginning, life was filled with a lot of ups and downs… never ending… like for real, it’s still happening -you know, the vicious cycle. It may look like a white picket fence life, or as if, life is like living on a cloud, it’s definitely not… the truth ugly, very ugly. Quite unfortunate to be honest, but not much could be done about it… it is what it is. Some people never change. Some people never come to see how damage they actually do, even if it’s right in front of their face. They are blinded by selfishness but, again that’s another story. This story is about escaping that story… so back to it.
The whole thing was just sicking, disgusting, yet so tempting. It was torture resisting it, and not because I was a feen, but because I just wanted to escape the nonsense -the vicious cycle. Ironic, once again, because I was in my own vicious cycle. And, like I said, as much as I hated being a part of it all, it was enticing, intriguing to see the extent people were willing to go to escape whatever it was they were escaping… whatever it was they were chasing. I love living through people, I could never do half of the shit I saw people do, mainly because it just wasn’t in nature but partially was seeing the aftermath, that is, witnessing the regret… the shame. But in the moment, they give a fuck, it was raw… it was everything I couldn’t be, but kind of everything I wanted to be… the person that give a fuck. Not that I wanted to participate in any of the ‘extra’ activities, it was more in terms of my life. I didn’t want to give a shit about anything, the problem was I cared about everything… heartbreaking.
But, it was no longer an escape, I saw it for what it really was… a mask, a bandaid. And, as much as I loved concealing my wounds, they were still very much there, and I loved when they weren’t, but I hated what it took… I hated that no matter what I did they were still there… nothing was going to change.
To be continued…