i didn't tell her that the last time i saw her, i was very angry; i don't think she even knew i was there. then a couple nights ago, from out of the blue, she asked if it was ok if she stopped by.
she stayed over and it was...nice.
i got to apologize for making her feel the way i did.
we talked about how not really talking killed us.
we both apologized.
after all, we're still friends, but what i said about her not too long ago still stands.
tonight she texted me.
i recognize that it's a sad case, yet i feel no sadness. no pity: don't feed the demons.
my empathy just doesn't work for those with self-inflicted poison.
now, i can appreciate the power of depression in all its forms--i know it inside and out, but the pity-junkie cycle is a case of weakness. it's giving up, being defeated without trying. it's giving in. i'll whisper hints in her ear, i'll be the coach shouting from the edge of the boxing ring,but i won't hold her hand-- this is her fight and it won't solve anything for me to fight it for her. that was the main lesson learned many semesters ago in Hanging Up The Cape 101.
sure i want to help-- it's my nature, but just like how wishes only come true the way you want them to if you meet them halfway, to become better, you have to want to be better. you have to learn to be yr own positive enabler.
"this is yr demon to banish. quit running, face it, destroy it."
like most common demons, hers feed on all kinds of pity, though they most prefer her own, and like grandchildren, she's spoiled them and let them grow fat and lazy.
she said she wants to be numb, that it's better than hurting.
...that old familiar blanket, seems so warm, tempting and easy to wrap oneself in; it promises to protect the heart while it constricts the soul.
i disagreed with her. "that's not living."
i told her that i was sorry to hear she was feeling that way, that that feeling is why i originally began to write so much; you want to talk about it, but not with anyone.
...some people can't accessorize, and her self esteem certainly isn't flattering.
i doubt that i'll ever know why she hates herself so much, why she says things like she doesn't deserve to be loved since she can't give it and such...
it seems ridiculous to me only because i've been through the same thing, but i'm on the outside of that state of mind these days and once you've escaped that cycle, you can't go back in.
she's got a void and like a lot of scared little girls, she uses sex to feel something like love and then feels even more worthless when she realizes that it doesn't really work.
it's an open door for the manipulators and users that complete her vicious cycle.
"i won't be the only one who loves you when you figure out how to. i hope you sleep well."
she stayed over and it was...nice.
i got to apologize for making her feel the way i did.
we talked about how not really talking killed us.
we both apologized.
after all, we're still friends, but what i said about her not too long ago still stands.
tonight she texted me.
i recognize that it's a sad case, yet i feel no sadness. no pity: don't feed the demons.
my empathy just doesn't work for those with self-inflicted poison.
now, i can appreciate the power of depression in all its forms--i know it inside and out, but the pity-junkie cycle is a case of weakness. it's giving up, being defeated without trying. it's giving in. i'll whisper hints in her ear, i'll be the coach shouting from the edge of the boxing ring,but i won't hold her hand-- this is her fight and it won't solve anything for me to fight it for her. that was the main lesson learned many semesters ago in Hanging Up The Cape 101.
sure i want to help-- it's my nature, but just like how wishes only come true the way you want them to if you meet them halfway, to become better, you have to want to be better. you have to learn to be yr own positive enabler.
"this is yr demon to banish. quit running, face it, destroy it."
like most common demons, hers feed on all kinds of pity, though they most prefer her own, and like grandchildren, she's spoiled them and let them grow fat and lazy.
she said she wants to be numb, that it's better than hurting.
...that old familiar blanket, seems so warm, tempting and easy to wrap oneself in; it promises to protect the heart while it constricts the soul.
i disagreed with her. "that's not living."
i told her that i was sorry to hear she was feeling that way, that that feeling is why i originally began to write so much; you want to talk about it, but not with anyone.
...some people can't accessorize, and her self esteem certainly isn't flattering.
i doubt that i'll ever know why she hates herself so much, why she says things like she doesn't deserve to be loved since she can't give it and such...
it seems ridiculous to me only because i've been through the same thing, but i'm on the outside of that state of mind these days and once you've escaped that cycle, you can't go back in.
she's got a void and like a lot of scared little girls, she uses sex to feel something like love and then feels even more worthless when she realizes that it doesn't really work.
it's an open door for the manipulators and users that complete her vicious cycle.
"i won't be the only one who loves you when you figure out how to. i hope you sleep well."
kmk:
beautiful ending. so very true. kiss. kmk.