What the actual hell is happening? People trying to poop in our driveway, or lighting intentional fires. That's bad enough. But turns out I can't rely on anyone, not even for a simple favor on Facebook. All I wanted from her was to compare our experiences in the same group and she didn't even have to click on anything, just think for a moment: Am I able make a post? Or do we both have to answer their questions every time before my comments are approved, which they never were?
Seriously, I've answered their questions 20 times and nothing I've said has been published. What is everybody else doing right? Why is nobody on the entire planet acknowledging me, except the one guy I don't want acknowledging me since he commented on my boobs?
Let's see. I won't mention names here, but I count...give me a moment...five important people who ghosted me after letting me think we were friends, my dad who walked out on us shortly after I was born, and a bevy of people who I just hung around because, well, we were kids and it was easier back then. Even losing them hurt. I had some good memories with those kids; learning how to play Tarzan, playing with the stray cats, playing Marco Polo in a pitch-black bedroom because I couldn't swim.
It's always been me picking up the phone. Never them. They say they'll meet me downtown, stand me up. Say they'll come to my birthday party, stand me up. Tell me they'll never stand me up and fucking stand me up. I'm a nice person, so why do they keep doing this? Is it my face? The slump of my shoulders? My height perhaps! Or is it them―all of them―everyone else―every time? Never me, not me at all? Do all people suck, or am I just encountering all the sucky ones?
It may be glaringly obvious that I'm single again. For about a year now, and I still feel like I've lost a limb. I didn't do anything wrong, I know that. My actions were just fine. He didn't want to say good-night, I sat in a rock-hard chair on my hemorrhoids for 24 hours straight talking to him. He said he wanted a month of space and I gave him ten. Ten! At which point I got dumped for missing him and wanting to talk more. Whatever. Ass. I got so tired of my family calling me a pushover.
I gave him space when he wanted it. Gave him friendship when he needed it. Loved him. Still do, because I'm an idiot! I feel shattered. Burned. I actually blocked him. Not because I wanted to, but because I didn't want to keep looking at his name. Seeing it every day broke me all over again. The stupid part is, getting rid of his name didn't make me feel any better. Of course, maybe that's because of how many people there are with the same name in Chicago Med! Like they know, and want me to suffer for watching it.
A lot of people have hit on me online over the years. For 29 years, I mastered pushing them away and feeling no grief. Then for this guy I let my guard down. Bam! Ended up feeling what I swore I never would. What am I supposed to do now―start all over again? I have the sneaky suspicion pushing people away will be harder now.
I was such an idiot. Should have pushed him away, too.
Here I am fretting over the wallet I lost because of the pictures inside. And why? It's just a picture of my dad, who didn't want me, and a childhood friend, who doesn't want me. Said we would talk "later that day." Here we are...eight years later. She moved, didn't tell me. Wouldn't even look at me when I attended the birthday party of the sister I didn't know she had. I ended up ducking out without saying goodbye. To think I got all dressed up. Those pictures should mean as little to me as I meant to them. I should rip them up and throw out the pieces. But no. Stupidly I want to turn my room upside-down and find the little bit of those people I'm left with.
All I can do is sit here and be jealous of their ability to escape whatever's wrong with me. And applaud their refined taste.
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