Misplaced Loathing

Reads: 173  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dark Ramblings to help admit to and get rid of some negative feelings.

Submitted: February 22, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 22, 2017



I have anxiety now when I didn’t use to. I no longer conform to a religion, and everything is just a bit more jaded than before. People only like me when I’m easy to deal with, which is tit for tat because I don’t have the energy to deal with them when the tables are turned. But that’s what it means to become an adult right? Have all the things that were so shiny before lose their luster and gleam.

Trust is for fools. Everyone is either inherently selfish, or pretending not to be so that they can reach some end goal of theirs. Honestly I may not feel this way tomorrow, but today the dark thoughts have me lashing at invisible bindings. My lungs feel tight as though I’m deep underwater, and the craving for violence coats thick in my throat. The water is self-hatred. The violence is blame.

I let go of God the first time I was ghosted. Seems dumb to tie my faith to a mortal man, but the triggering was crippling. I was again that child who no one really cared for.

I should have left the Ghoster long behind. I have an addictive personality. Is that an excuse? Rings like one in my ears. The second time is when I was a different sort of shaken. Because I had gone back, and he did it again, like I feared he would. It added stupidity to injury. The fear was always in the back of my throat, every time he omitted a critical detail or truth it would spike. That I would be discarded and she wouldn’t be, and in a self-fulfilling prophecy it came true. There are few other humans I hate as much as I hate her. I hate her for being valued when I am not. For being kept when I was discarded. For carrying on a façade that made her appear better than me. Easier to deal with than me. The resentment is likely at least a bit displaced. But this isn’t a logic writing. This is emotion writing and emotion hopes I never hear her name, have to be tortured by her voice or see her face again. Ill-reason tells me that if she weren’t in the picture the second ghosting wouldn’t have happened. I acknowledge it’s a falseness. But I still can’t let it go…

Our paths overlapped this weekend and she was everywhere. No where I turned could I avoid her. No room I went to, no corner gave me sanctuary. Her laughter rang in my ears, her voice carried across the room and I wanted to be anywhere else away from her. She is the personification of every cruel thing he did to me. He did them, true. But she was the method. She was the tool that he used to stomp on my heart the signifier that I was the problem. I wish I could delete them both from my memory.

No my wish is more violent than that. But wishes don’t come true. Wishes like people are false and hollow. All wishes are pipe dreams, unattainable and sickening. I chase a mental dragon down a path into the ars of death. The death of my heart so that I can be taken past the point of feeling, of caring.

I think I'm almost there.

I wish I’d never met him even as I crawl back into bed with him. A third time, because I hate myself but I like him.

The mantra rings clear as I lie in his bed.

Don’t ask him if he likes you. He doesn’t.

Don’t ask him if you matter. You don’t.

Keep the boundaries in place. No marks, he won’t be there to claim them tomorrow.

No cruel words, they ring true for the both of you.

Don’t answer when he asks what’s wrong. He’s not trustworthy.

Hollow fun. Hollow sex. From a hollow girl. Because the end is coming soon, just wait.

People don’t change. Don’t expect them to, it’s a fool’s move.

You are worthless. Worth less than others. 

At least in their eyes.

© Copyright 2018 DarkAngelLeo. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: