Thursday, July 30, 2009
The Weather Report: Part 3
Recently, someone that I have grown to like and respect very much gave me her two cents on this subject. She stated that talking things out always makes her feel better because at least things were out in the open. She is the type of person who wants to work on things, try to make them better before throwing in the towel, or at least reach an understanding. A few weeks ago I would have agreed. My Facebook status currently reads that I am tired of explaining myself.
For years I instead of just doing what was best for me, I would try to get people to understand me. A more honest way of putting it: I was afraid of pissing people off. Don't get me wrong - I'll argue a point to death, but I still wanted your acceptance - you to like me. Now? Not so much.
I was pretty carefree and was able to do and buy most things I wanted for a long time. I worked hard, had fun, and the future was bright as hell - then my parents fell ill, and my father died. Finances and my mom's well-being pushed everything aside. My daughter was born. My grandmother died. I ended my relationship (with the help of the po-po) and my mom got sick again. Some of the people I met during this period only knew me in these situations.
What happens when you make the decision to stop being miserable? In the case of SWF's they tend to show their true colors (asses) and it ain't pretty. Recently, I embarked on two projects that focus my creative energy that had damn near shriveled up and died. The excitement level was high, the energy was boundless, and the ideas were pouring in. The support from the SWF? contingent? Let's just say that posting personal on Craigslist for a one-legged dwarf who loves long walks on the beach would have given me a better response.
What I received was a complete lack of interest, questions as to why I was acting "out of it" and several stabs. My friend, JTC, is fond of saying that when people are unhappy, they like to take stabs at one another. Sometimes it may feel like a plastic butter knife, and other times? Well, it feels as if someone to a rusty ass dagger and plunged it in and twisted the shit. Strange how those stabs started getting sharper as I started making moves to improve things for my daughter and I. The point to all of this is that your friends want what's best for you - always. Friends do not use you to make themselves feel better. Friends do not desire to take you down a peg if they think you are rising too high.
The friend I at the beginning of this post asked me if still think people were basically good. She had such an earnest look on her face when she was speaking...I looked at her and lied. I don't have the faith in people that I used to. For the most part, after taking a step back and shedding my Pollyanaesqe worldview, I find people to be self-serving as hell. To that end, my reactions now reflect what I see.
Today, I had an email exchange with someone that ended in me explaining myself (habits die hard okay?) and while on my drive home even though I felt sad, angry, and tired - I realized something. My reactions are just that - mine. My decisions, worldview, actions, and feelings for too long have been dominated by worry about how others would perceive them. No more.
I don't have to tell you why I no longer wish to interact with you if it is going to be draining, annoying or time consuming. And more importantly - are you listening Fam and anyone else reading this? If you have ever for one second put me down to build yourself up, told me or anyone else to "get over it" when you haven't dealt with your own shit which causes you to lash out - understand this: Not for one more day, hour, or second do you get any part of me. I count myself among those I am obligated to. Obligation does not equal enslavement. I will not give up my life so that you may live yours with your foot on my neck.
To my two ex friends: Go in peace, but go. To the father of my child: Someday I hope you have a relationship with your daughter, I will not hinder that. You still are financially responsible and to date have failed to produce a cent in almost a year. Pay your child-support or go to jail. To Satan disguised as the Ex's manager who reads this blog: The city prosecutor thinks you're an idiot, dishonest and would like you to pay for wasting their time. Good luck with that. Next time you sashay into court(apparently this is your weapon of choice for intimidation) don't send me an email beforehand detailing the crazy that inhabits the shell your soul should reside in, but does not.
This may come off as a rant, and that's okay. It was necessary and I feel much better.