I'm So Confused }}

I don't know what to do anymore. It feels like, if I do something, it'll always turn out wrong. I don't know what to anticipate, don't know what to plan for. And the smart move, the thing I've done since before I can remember, is to not expect. To not expect means to never be disappointed. Relinquishing my right to pure pleasure seems like a small price to pay. Yea, that's right. I'm not selfish enough to expect bliss. That's the one thing I can say for myself. I don't expect my life to be perfect. I never have. I've never expected my fairy tale ending. 1

But there were a few things I always expected to get. Things that my parents have stressed have to happen since I was little. I expect things like, college. Medical care. Things that I guess aren't expected in a lot of cultures. I'm sorry this isn't one of them, that I can't relate to that dire need that can't be fulfilled. But those cultures at least have family. Family is the most important gift. And when you lose that, you truly have nothing. Thank youuuuu Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.2

I have nothing.3

I lost my family at the age of six, when after my gramma died I refused to say I love you to this woman who had never been in my life before then. In my six year old mind, my Oma, my Grandmother, was trying to replace my Gramma. She hadn't been around before that. I didn't understand. And to an extent, I still sort of feel that way. Like she kept her distance until she saw her chance to swoop in. 4

I'm not a mouse.5

But I guess I'm not much better. A hamster, maybe. Or a guinea pig. Big enough to be heard, too small for them to actually care what the hell all that squeaking means. I'm just a nuissance to my aunts, a confusing mistake to my uncles, and to my mom... I'm a housekeeper, something to direct her complaints at. I'm not worth putting the bottle down, putting out a cigarette, giving up one night with her fuckbuddy to figure out that my favorite color hasn't been red since I was seven (in fact, it was actually my favorite power ranger, but I gave up trying to clear up that matter). I'm not worth my dad not moving to Texas, my brothers staying in touch, one person not walking away or deleting a text when I need them to keep myself sane.6

I can't expect life to be a little easier. Which I'm okay with, for the most part. I've always been somewhat of a loner anyways. I like my friends, but I like dealing with my issues my way. And to do that, you usually need a little distance so you can't hear the life according to bob, or who ever's opinion was offered this week.7

But I have problems with liars. I have problems with people telling me to open up, and then betraying me. I have problems with hypocrites telling me to trust them, and then in the next breath telling me that I can't trust people. I'm not okay with people telling me they'll always be there, and to call them whenever I feel like I'm going to crash, only to find out their phone is off every damn time, or their girlfriend was bored, or for them to make me feel like I'm being too damn dependent when all I want is proof that I'm not invisible.8

Make me believe that I'm worth something.9

So I role play, yea? Quite a bit, although I've cut down a load recently by leaving a bunch of sites that were either too stressful, too dull, or whatever excuse I had in my head when I left. And what I've noticed in the six, seven years that I've role played is that half the time, most of the site couldn't care less even if they tried about most of your characters. But heaven forbid you mention deleting or culling your characters, and suddenly it's this horrible crime, they LOVE them, why are they being deleted, what's wrong with you?10

Me? What's wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with you?11

It's the same in real life. No one looks twice when I walk by, no one stops to think when I speak, no one's lost sleep over the fact that I went from crying maybe once a year at the thought of a puppy dying to crying almost twice a week, on a good week. No one's tossing and turning about the fact that I've been edging closer and closer to the ledge that I was hovering over for three years. No one's stopping to think that maybe, this time, I'm not going to stop a the line. I'm going to cross it. And maybe I like it on the other side; maybe I won't want to go back.12

But if I actually do it, suddenly people will care. And do you know what i have to say to that? nothing. If you haven't heard me yet, my words mean nothing to you. They're wasted, and I won't waste another breath whispering questions that you don't care to answer. That you so blatantly insult me and my intelligence with promises of a better future, of keeping my head high so that I can see the silver lining you stenciled out in charcoal, of sweet memories that we can make if I cling to the ledge a little bit longer.13

But I'm tired of clinging. I'm tired of self restraint and holding my breath. I'm tired of living for a future that's undefined, that when I tried to make it a possible reality, you shied away from it like a horse and its lead and I hate you for it. And yet, I don't, because I trust you. And what hurts is that you practically told me not to trust you, not to trust anyone. You want me to go backwards and go forward at the same time, and the result is that I'm standing still, spinning at circles at best. And for some damn reason, I'll keep doing it because... I don't learn my lesson.14

I've read this story before. What a freaking rip off. The characters have different names and the little details are different, but the big idea is still there. I can see where it's heading and I hate it, but I'm not in control of the story. For once I'm the character, not the writer, and some twisted bitch wields the pen and she hates me, and she's like those damn fanfiction writers that twist the characters into the mold she needs to make the event happen again, and again, and again. And you have the nerve to tell me that this time, it'll be different. The ending will be different. But you don't know how it will end, and your words betray you sweetheart because you're spinning two tales and both of them are too bloody big for you to handle on your own.15

I hope your lies are heavy. I hope they make you gasp and sputter with the energy it takes to weave them into a shape so constricting and binding that I want to scream and tear at the pages with feeble fingers, like a declawed cat desperately trying to survive in the wild and damn it. You promised me you wouldn't let me feel like this ever again. You all did. You promised me...16

I was wrong. I never should have tried again. I should've walked away, proudly boasted my battle scars. Instead I tried to use cover up and eye shadow to make the bruises look like beautiful color. Red lipstick made the blood look fashionable and these scars? Oh sweetheart, they're nothing. They're just bug bites and the like, nothing serious, right? I mean, battered pride and wounded egos and shattered hearts lying in pieces on the floor because the blood and water (friends and family, in case that was lost on you) that are necessary to your survival are all dried up and in case you haven't noticed, this is the twenty first century where we worry about things like college and cell phone plans and insurance policies and trying to colonize Mars so that we can leave our worries and mistakes behind us, forgotten legends of the past as we plow recklessly forward. 17

There's no time for loyalty, trust, bonds, love, friendship, companionship, holding hands and making memories, honor and hope and decency and regard for others, respect for yourself or others, and honesty. Be honest with me.18

It doesn't matter.