A Meaningless Little Rant
Why are some people content to live with unresolved conflicts? Or maybe that should be "How?"
Denial is a pitiful thing. It annoys me, and gets under my skin, where it sits like an infection. You can look away, as some are apt to do, but every now and then you'll bump up against something and feel a shiver of stinging pain run up your side, and then it pops back into your head.
In the long run, maybe it's not such a big deal. A little red spot that nobody sees; certainly nothing you need to worry about. But it bothers me. I see it. I know it's there. I don't want to carry around useless little sores with me. Sores that belong to someone else.
I really should get that removed.
Then again, I'm too fucking nice. I don't like conflict, and I don't like causing others pain. For someone else's benefit, someone who surely doesn't appreciate it, I let it sit. After all, some people aren't strong enough to face basic little bits of truth, so lets be nice and leave them alone, eh?
I'm fucking sick of Mr. Nice Guy. Some people need to be shaken and slapped and shouted at until they wake the fuck up. She's long gone, not thinking about me anymore, but I don't forget things. I never forget when someone hurts me. She never even meant anything to me until she decided to disappear. It's not even about her. Perhaps it never was. Of course it never was.
I get worked up over nothing, but hey, at least I'm feeling it. Something.
If I had a tumor, I would name it ****.
Denial is a pitiful thing. It annoys me, and gets under my skin, where it sits like an infection. You can look away, as some are apt to do, but every now and then you'll bump up against something and feel a shiver of stinging pain run up your side, and then it pops back into your head.
In the long run, maybe it's not such a big deal. A little red spot that nobody sees; certainly nothing you need to worry about. But it bothers me. I see it. I know it's there. I don't want to carry around useless little sores with me. Sores that belong to someone else.
I really should get that removed.
Then again, I'm too fucking nice. I don't like conflict, and I don't like causing others pain. For someone else's benefit, someone who surely doesn't appreciate it, I let it sit. After all, some people aren't strong enough to face basic little bits of truth, so lets be nice and leave them alone, eh?
I'm fucking sick of Mr. Nice Guy. Some people need to be shaken and slapped and shouted at until they wake the fuck up. She's long gone, not thinking about me anymore, but I don't forget things. I never forget when someone hurts me. She never even meant anything to me until she decided to disappear. It's not even about her. Perhaps it never was. Of course it never was.
I get worked up over nothing, but hey, at least I'm feeling it. Something.
If I had a tumor, I would name it ****.