Sometimes, but especially right now, I gotta think: gosh, Jessica, why are you so fucking stupid? And then there's this part of me going, like: yeah, okay, and that's fine. C'mon.
That's the thing. I always thought I was faking it, and I wasn't. I think some part of me really believes in all that stalwart crap. I don't believe in the idea of people's faith, justice, goodness, or bravery anymore. But by God, I'm not going to slink off on them.
I did myself a little janky tarot reading, (a hot mess: star over two of pents, inv. emperor made an appearance, bunk for miles) and my personal representation card was the upside down nine of cups: heart, valor, loyalty, but not without some little ruin.
People are not going to do right by me. I can't control that. People have been using me and taking advantage of me since I was a little girl. Since I was a literal child. They will chew me up, and then they will spit me out when they're done and bored. I can't control that. I can control me, though, and what I do back. It's so fucking cool to be all cynical and grim and cold, but I'm not that, even now. There's nothing to be gained by turning your back on people who don't even know the extent or consequences of their actions, and probably wouldn't care if they did. People are just people.
So I don't know, I feel tired, but I'm not bitter.My heart is very full. And that's the thing I feel I've been trying to wrap my head around in my late twenties. What do you do when loss and disappointment happens again, and again, and again? What do you do when everyone is the same? Internalize it? Get furious, and atom bomb the people who hurt you? No way. you make bread. (Or pumpkin pound cake.) You love, and scrap together whatever compassion you've got, and you never, ever give up on them, because the real thing is so much bigger than any stupid wound you've got to nurse. And that can be okay.
No comments:
Post a Comment