I don’t know why were given hindsight. I understand that in some situations, it’s good to look back, ask what you did wrong, and fix it for the future.
But sometimes it does nothing but complicate things.
Instead of giving me confidence for the future, instead I am stripped of any I once had.
Perhaps there is something wrong with my plumbing. Informations enters one tube and gets sent to the wrong receptor, and what comes out is doubt.
(Or maybe this is like the band kid who plays a note wrong and looks at his instrument as if it were broken.)
This is most true with relationships. After one ends, no matter the terms or conditions, I will look back with regret. This is my instinct.
“Oh, the signs!” I cry. “How could I be so blind?”
Well, what was there to see? I was not blind, I saw everything present to me at the time. In some cases, I even caught a glimpse of the inevitable outcome, and tried to avoid it…
What the fuck am I doing?
Fuck this dry examination of my situation, fuck this outsider looking in bullshit.
It took the shade of her hair.
My stomach dropped, my hands shook, I needed to be somewhere far away.
Really? I thought I was fucking over this. I thought I was done.
It was good for me, I say.
It was worth the experience, I say.
It was no one’s fault.
But I am done, erase it. It never happened. It provided nothing but pain. Useless, rampant, reckless pain.
It turned me into a goddamned fool, acting not on logic but on pure and utter feeling, and the feeling is always run.
But if I could just forget… Well then I would never feel this way.
It’s tough to leave a situation in such cowardice that the people left behind have nothing to do but question your actions, formulating their own opinions why you do the things you do, and there’s nothing that looks good about running.
A baby, I’m sure they said.
And the unsolicited advice you receive because of your cowardice.
Tonight I’ve heard “Don’t let anyone rule your life.” and “You’re being an asshole.” and “You need us right now.”
Just everyone fuck off.
I don’t need your goddamned advice, because it’s the same everytime, and you don’t know as much as you think you do, because neither do I.
Just someone be there for me. Don’t try and fix it, because the only fix is time, just be with me and squeeze me so hard that you are scared you’re hurting me. Squeeze me past the point of uncomfortability.
I know I’m a goddamn baby. You telling me doesn’t help.
I don’t care if you don’t understand, you don’t have to. I don’t even make sense to myself right now, but that’s not a problem, that’s not something that needs to be fixed.
Whatever. I’m just baby and the internet happens to be a megaphone for my incessant, belidgerent, shut-the-fuck-up-you-vagina-it-happened-so-long-ago wails.
Fuck it all.
