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“You suck,” said the man.

“Oh, yeah? I will show you,” says the ego.

The ego has nothing to do with reality.  Therefore, one must learn not to take things so “personally.”  After all, it’s not about you, it’s all about me, buddy.   

Of course, the hypocrisy within such a belief may be evident– but it is also an everyday reality. One may allow themselves to be sucked into this type of a character death fall.

Happy V-Day or not, whatever.

Practice your best Samuel L. Jackson impression of being “tired of all these motherf*ckin'” zombies on a plane:

Once upon a real reality, yours truly would find myself locked in a frustration-filled bout that, eventually, would defeat and topple the old me. The aforementioned fact is not something I am proud of, as attention whoredom has never been a part of my “deal.”  Yet, the consideration craved would not be from friends wishing to offer encouragement that better days lie ahead for the then-present train-wreck shit show, known as me. 

No, the coveted audience was one particular, specific person, but none of my narratives would ever hit the eyes of the intended target. Hopes of feelings understood would turn to frustration, frustration to periods of upset, and so forth and so on the downward spiraling evolution would continue. The entire situation was a set-up.

Someone trusted saw an opportunity to wield secrets-shared as an offensive weaponized tactic. In the end, the ploy was merely a means to derive a desireable cold-hearted excuse for one’s preferred d-baggery.

Well played.

In hindsight, my initial mess up, a mistake turned sword to slay that which is me.    For later, the errors made would be admitted to with attempted apologizes to clarify my previous position would certainly not read on in as an adequate manner.   That’s right, yours truly would not be given the time to use my “real” voice to plead my case.   Instead, all my efforts, every single one… would be met with chirp, chirp, and more chirps of nothingness. 

Certainly, there must have been some underlying or hidden intent– and yep, like a sucker, I fell for it, dupe annihilation.

Along the way, I would realize the error of my ways, the mistake of allowing another person to pull my strings and choose my attitude as a means of exploitation.

Now, I choose my attitude, no more falling victim to the same trick.    For it then, and only then, my power would be reclaimed to rise above whatever troubles may come my way.   I encourage and remind all those that may find themselves in a similar situation– YOU ARE NOT ALONE.   There are many of us, less than perfect, living this world without a pamphlet– WE MAKE MISTAKES.    But some, like myself, refuse to stay down, to give up, or to ever quit on one’s self– always keep pushing, hang in there until better days come along.

As a wise man once said:

The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That’s pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps.

Marsellus Wallace

The Moral of the Story

Typically, this is the crushing finale that wishes to impart some sort of grand lesson learned or wisdom. A self-pretentious opportunity for utilizing the standard lines of chipperness that are commonly accepted, seem happy enough, and most importantly– encourage said complainer to shut the f*ck up. It is within the end of whining, the sage can get back to talking about “more important things” such as themselves or those new shoes they simply “must” have. One should never trust those relying upon the simplest narratives to purify and pacify, for these tactics are not helpful, they do not work. It’s all a means to allow another to feel good about themselves while encouraging someone to shut the f*ck up.

As for me… I did not learn jack shit. If anything, an old axiom that applies would be “there are three sides to every story: mine, yours, and the truth.” Well, that would be correct, except only my side of the story has ever been presented to me. Hence, it seems only natural that my side + complete silence = the truth is whatever I wish it to be. My reality is time does not heal all wounds as I remain hollow but yet not bitter.

For I awake each day doing my best to keep chugging along (while not being a dick) with an internal hollowness which makes it more difficult to arise from the “right side” of the bed.

My hollowness stems from the discovery that I do not matter in the eyes of a once-believed bonded confidant and friend. Despite not being dead, yours truly was discarded, ignored, and dismissed as if I were. Being one slow to open up to others, it took a while to let the aforementioned person in, then shortly later– out of nowhere, KAPUT. That fact really sucks. However, it does not impact my view of the world or of others as I realize one person’s assholishness is 100% on them and nobody else. In this particular case, I am not even bitter toward this a-hole– because yours truly is not the one that actually sucks. For some unexplained reason, this guilt-free knowledge of not being in the wrong seems to make the day a tad bit brighter.

Hmm, if there is a moral to the tale, it might be, no matter what happens in life– try not to suck.

" Darrell Roberts : Writing is my passion, whether you agree, disagree, love, or hate the expression of my passion is not important. What is important, is that those that read my words are never bored by doing so.."