Grateful for friends and nonjudgmental ER staff. Feeling pretty close to my limit, but we’ll see what tomorrow holds. I can take it.
I am not a willow
It seems our agreement shifted. And if I wanted to I would. If I believed anything other than the past would repeat itself, I’d behave differently. If I had it in me, I’d be right back on board. But,
I don’t have it in me. I don’t believe anything other than the past will repeat itself. In my deepest depths, recesses of my heart and mind, all my hidden coves, I know that nothing will change. I know that I will go through this over and over until I’m completely destroyed. Angry. Hateful. Resentful. Incapable.
And that’s not who I want to be. Not who I am. Not a person I’m willing to become.
I believe in goodness, in love. I believe in awareness, in knowing when you’re done, in trusting to know when we’ve reached an impasse.
It’s not that your aren’t worth it. You are my greatest love. You are everything I hoped and ever wanted. You are a kaleidoscope.
But I have scar tissue built up around my ability to go back. It’s marbled, knobby, held fast. I can see no, feel no, believe no other way.
The distance stretched too far this time. My heart is hardened. My hope proved insufficient. Asking for work, effort, belief, is out of the question. I’m tired. And I can’t.
i think i’m the worst sort of person. when is it okay to hurt someone else? when is it okay to say i can’t do this? only the worst sort would consider it. a person who thinks they deserve more than what they’ve got. that it could be better somewhere else. that constant waiting for the other shoe to drop will leave. the ebb and flow no longer dictated by desire or addiction. just ebb. ebb and ebb and ebb. til it’s gone.
but it’s never gone. even if you flush it out. chase it away. cut it from your heart. it’s still there. always hidden in the unsuspected. no matter the precautions taken. no matter the questions. no matter the reservations. always there. always ready to show me i’m wrong.
i am the worst sort of person
for wanting more than what i’ve got.
What are you fucking thinking? What are you fucking doing? Who the fuck do you think you are?
I don’t know. I don’t know. Just lost.
Figure your shit out. There’s only one solution. Climb back on the crazy train. And hang on. You’re not going anywhere. You don’t know how.
I could figure it out. I could stick up for me.
Please. You can’t. You don’t understand enough to argue. I’ll tell you what to do. You’ll do it. Because we all want the same thing. And that’s for me, I mean us, to be happy.
You don’t really care. You just want to secure me. Under your thumb. Shapeless. Faceless. Lost.
You’re ridiculous. I told you you didn’t get it. You’ve just validated my point.
It is the will of the Deceivers to keep you distracted.
It is the will of the Distracted to see everything.
We have unfinished business, you and I.
An off topic bitch fest brought to you by me.
Being told to give a survey to my students to find out how to make my class more fun is really just absolutely fucking ridiculous. Never mind that 12 year-old kids have no idea what they should do. They only know what they want. They want to be on their phones and they want to play mindless video games and get constant positive feedback for no effort.
Sure, give them a survey. Make it more fun. The only focus for teacher’s for the several years has been us to make everything more fun. Easier. Bullet points and no reading. And certainly no homework. They’re too busy for homework. Too busy.
Did you study? No, but I played Call of Duty for 10 hours.
You play Call of Duty? Your parents let you play Call of Duty?
Obviously, the problem lies with me. I’m not fun enough.
Now, I’m bored of complaining. It’s always the same. Poor performance and blame the teacher. Nothing to do with parenting. Nothing to do with screens. Nothing to do with kids being exposed to violence earlier and earlier in their lives. Nothing to do with any of that. Just me and my boring hands-on, lab filled, inquiry-based, interactive class.
*whining* I scrape out time to barely enough time to participate in #micromondays. This last month, I haven’t been able to do even that much. *whining over*
Attended my second writing conference ever. The place was overflowing with amazing authors, editors, publishers, experts, volunteers. I met so many amazing people. Not like, “oh, you’re amazing” blah blah cuz you’re here too, but “you’re real, genuine, kind, accepting, open, generous, interested, just overall amazing. I’m lucky to have met you.” See the difference?
I learned a lot, too. I can’t wait to go to the next conference. The LUW cares so much about its members and the writing community, each person affiliated with them spreads the same message of appreciation and concern. They’re wonderful.