You're beating with a book everyone the book tells you to love
Is it encoded within us as humans to cause ourselves grief? We feel and we cling to the notion of feeling, of existing, because it's what we're taught and told and how it has always been. Our feelings are products of ourselves, and they cause us incomparable grief.
We pray to higher powers, grasping for their outstretched hands, pleading to both them and ourselves that they are and that they have been and will be for eternity. We beg for a highly implausible truth because it is what we know and what we were taught and how it should be. If it isn't so, we feel betrayed and lost, subjected to a lifetime of faithful servitude only to have reason destroy the only good thing left in the world - the notion of utopia in the form of forgiveness, spiritual cleansing, and eternal rest. Something to look forward to upon leaving the world we have slowly destroyed and the destitute lives we lead.
-x-
Some time ago, I chose to place a heavy decision in the hands of one I trusted most, and they fumbled, leading us down a path that neither of us can quite recall beyond it's awkward unpleasantness and the dull ache it leaves in my chest even now. They were broken by another, but unwilling to admit it until I found myself in the same precarious position. I was overwhelmed by pain and fear - fear that we could never return from the path we took. But then they were saved by the very same person who broke them - yet another one of my precious people. Just as before, I was left to watch them, only now filled with remorse and humiliation; I never had a chance. But I didn't feel malice, envy. Even now I fight endlessly to retain our previous dynamic while adjusting to their new one.They are my closest allies in life, and just to be with them and make them smile and laugh is enough for me. Perhaps if I believed in fate I would acredit my rejection to that; all I know is that they are happy and I am struggling to maintain a semblance of the joy I once possessed.
I abhor the thought that I would subject myself to such a pathetic, pitiful cliche. I detest the notion that I may never be able to fix myself, and that someone else will have to. The problem is, I don't think I'm equipped with the tools necessary to do so.
I've moved on, but perhaps it is time to leave, to pursue something entirely different than what I have become. I can't live if I'm constantly accomodating to the whims of others.