Sick of Pretending.

I don’t often rant, and I don’t really wish to here. But I am extremely disappointed in people sometimes, and it sneaks up on me and hamstrings my willingness to be open to others.

I’ve gotten over the shock and shame that the general public is able to convey with expertise and ease so effectively and so often. That no longer surprises me, and I try to blur my own daily cognition of selfish masses existing only for the benefit of themselves. Fatter, better, more, is the American way–and yes it does extend far outside America, and far before it. But this is old news, and old potatoes. It exists, and it’s bigger than me, and all I can do is accept that fact and move on, while trying very hard to surround myself with people who are wonderful, and sweet, and giving, and caring–for themselves, and their friends, and the people whom they hold dear. And to give the same to them to the best of my ability. No one is perfect, and I have trouble consistently doing it as much as the next person.

It’s not such a big thing to ask others to be honest, caring, and wary, especially when people tout themselves that way in the first place. It’s only a big thing to expect this from the general public. They simply can’t give it. But when you spend intimate, important time with Significant people, you share a bond that is unique to your experiences. It becomes part of you and your past, and what you’re made of from here on out. It shapes memory and character, for good or bad. I try my best to approach these experiences with an open mind and open heart, and regardless of how they turn out, the important thing is that we went through them together. Whatever those “thems” might be. And with friends, lovers, or family. It doesn’t really matter who and why. It only matters how they were handled. Maybe I foolishly strive for some semblance of unattainable permanence, and I am unwilling to let things go, to let them be relegated to the Past and nothing more. But maybe I have a point.

Forget trying to figure out who or why. It’s a whole bunch of people throughout my life, and for many reasons. As I said, it doesn’t matter. But sometimes I look through old letters and poems written dearly or desperately, listen to significant songs that stir a joyous smile or a deep ache within me, or visit certain places that remind me of a Once-Brilliant Tribe and I think of how lucky I am to have had these experiences, and regardless of how they’ve turned out, the fact that I went through them truly endears me to those people with whom I journeyed there. It’s a simple appreciation, and a very light responsibility. And I HATE the fact that others cannot join me in this mutual respect. I am sickened that some would rather tamp down such experiences and pretend that they never existed. That friendships were never coalesced or that passion was never shared. Why make it harder on yourselves by stuffing these feelings inside, and why make it shitty for me to feel like nothing more than a Bad Decision? It will only come up again for you, in whatever form that takes, and it will stick for me, and degrade my self esteem and feeling of worth. On both accounts, it sucks. And that’s why I don’t do it. If I don’t like you, or don’t want to be around you, you’ll know about it. I guarantee. Do the same with me, and handle it like a grown-up. THAT, I can take.

But when there’s discomfort, or disagreement, or the inexorably caustic flood of bad memories from the past, or whatever other overpowering emotions that have arisen that you simply are unable to deal with, try just opening up, would ya? Just respect it, because it shapes you. Both the good and the bad.

Maybe friends aren’t really forever, but memories are. Why taint them with disrespect by refusing to acknowledge that bond? I’ve been accused of putting too many expectations on my friends. Maybe this is true, but I feel I have the right to strive for certain qualities in the people with whom I surround myself. Part of my Resolution for this year is no longer maddeningly trying to be open to those that insist on shutting me out, because I’m tired of that feeling. You may be okay with that decision, and even welcome it to some degree, because now the pressure’s off.

But don’t you dare bandy about the words “Love” and “Friendship” like you truly know what they mean. Because you’ve failed.

And so have I, apparently.

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