Gratitude

S**t I Really Didn’t Want to Know or HAVE to Say

This is a screenshot from the conversation that prompted yesterday’s rant. The sadly odd thing is that the Lady that sent these to me was concerned enough for MY sensibilities that she edited “I won’t send where he’s talking about me peeling a banana with my mouth……I’ll keep it clean.”…

Screenshot (8)

She edited it heavily. Apparently, this is tame…I have been living in a bubble. I had no clue that this s**t was so common. I asked on my Facebook page. Here are some of the responses…

“Say you’re gay and suddenly you’re the spawn of Satan. Fucking bitch, cunt, I wouldn’t let you suck my dog’s dick”…and yeah, she’s gay…in fact that was Z and if y’all have read this blog you know that I adore her.

“I quit working in one location with a security guard kept pressuring me to date him.”

“I would start out saying I was married and working and the persistent ones would say that they weren’t concerned about all that and could we just get together?”

” men don’t care if I’m single or not because they are not looking for a relationship if you know what I mean”

Another response “get dick pics all the time. Sometimes, it’s the second message/text.”

I’m either stupid or, more likely, “protected” and naive. If I hadn’t asked, I wouldn’t know people did this. I thought “most men” were like me. I thought that we treated women the way we want them to be treated… I think “most” are but, enough aren’t that it’s beyond time for the decent ones of us to speak up…

*****

Hey, Asswipes Disguised as Men.
Shut your filthy fucking mouths. Put down the phone and keyboard. Delete your camera app. Y’all are a bunch of insecure idiots.  She doesn’t owe you anything. She didn’t ask to be treated the way you are treating her. She doesn’t exist so that you can get laid. I’ll go over this again so that you know…
This is what you do with a Woman. You TALK to her. No, sending dick-pics isn’t “talking”. You make her laugh. You let her feel safe and secure around you. You LISTEN, really pay attention with your whole face and mind, to what she has to say. You treat her with dignity and respect, No, telling her she’s a bitch or a cunt or a dyke because she didn’t like your dick-pics DOES NOT count as “dignity and respect”. You take “no” for an answer the very first time she even hints at saying no. You NEVER put in a spot where she is the tiniest bit uncomfortable around you. Not ever. Period. You don’t brag to her about how she will feel when you are fucking her. You don’t make suggestions unless she specifically invites you to. No, you do not mistake being polite as “invites”.
You don’t act like you are a victim when she rejects you. You don’t have that right. If you think that she “owes” you sex, you are a potential rapist and need to be in a cage.
Is any of this getting through to you morons?
Nah, I figured it wasn’t but, I had to try. I won’t even go into the whole “women are our mothers, daughters, wives, and sisters” bit because your actions show that is the way you WANT them treated. All you see is an object and not a human.
The worst part of what you baboons are doing is that, for the majority of us, the women in our lives don’t tell us the shit you put them through. Our women protect us from you because they know that two things would happen when we found out, Put it like this, they keep us out of prison and you out of a box.
In short, if you think what you are doing or have done is correct or proper, instead of saying that crap or forcing yourself on her, you should go fuck yourself and then you could get laid every night.
Sincerely,
Miller
P.S. To y’all that call yourselves “incels”. You aren’t “involuntary” anything. You should call yourselves “voluntary sub-humans”. You have no right to anyone else’s body or company. You are not fit for the companionship of humans. If you feel so strongly that people have a “right” to sex, maybe you should volunteer to go to the Rainbow Lounge and take it up the ass. Don’t gay men have a right to sex, too?

*****

This isn’t me making some silly SJW excuse for me being such a great guy. I’m not. I’m an opinionated middle-aged man. I don’t care about most things. I’m not that worried about how other families live their lives. I don’t give a damn about politics. Most “social issues” don’t make any difference to me. I am not taking on some misguided guilt for an accident of birth that made me a hetero white male.  My reasons for what I write about the way women are treated, religion and, LBGT Rights have all come from the same spot. My very best friends are women. My reasons are PURELY selfish. I don’t want my friends treated like shit.

Dear Ladies,
I apologize. The decent MEN among us have kept our mouths shut for too long. Maybe we need to be shocked out of our complacency. Do us a favor, I promise we won’t like it but do it anyway. When some shit like this happens, tell us. Let us feel your pain and disgust and fear. We love you. Let us be there…even if we don’t know what to do and can’t really fix it. The decent ones of us DO outnumber the assholes and predators. We may not be able to stop them but, let us try. Let us tell you and show you that what they do is no reflection on you, only them. Y’all have put up with this stuff for far too long alone. We, Men, don’t really have any way to make up for the past but, maybe we can make your future better.
Love,
Miller

 

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There Was A Truck Across The Road

Yesterday morning, while I was having my coffee and smoke before work, I heard a boom. I didn’t think anything of it…till the sirens. The highway that I take to work is behind my house and the entrance that I use is about 1/4 mile away. It’s just a crossover that lets you go across 2 lanes of traffic to get to the northbound side…and someone coming south didn’t see the semi crossing his lanes. He hit the truck. He died. I KNOW that road. I know how fast traffic is. I suspect that it was quick. I hope he was gone before the flames got to him…
I don’t know who it was. It was just someone that was either coming home or going to work. No one expects that at 5:30 on a nice Fall morning that they won’t make it home from work. No family expects it…

I was going to write some cutsie pie post about a Blanket Fort…at least that was what I had been thinking about during the week. Yesterday morning changed that. I’m not going to use some person I don’t know as a tool to beat down people, please don’t read that into this.

Tell your person that you love them. Tell your people that you love them. If you’re in a fight and leave the house before you leave say “I love you”. Say the words.
Let the people that you surround yourself know what you like about them. Tell your wife she’s beautiful or your husband he’s attractive. If you don’t have either or a person, find someone and let them know.

Quit being so spiteful and fearful. Look for common ground and quit embracing xenophobic hate. Don’t consign people to Hell. When you take that stuff in, is that what you want in your heart when there’s a truck across the highway?

Let people in, don’t push them away.

*****

I like online conversations. It lets me see what I’ve missed. I’m sort of a functioning agoraphobic. I don’t ever want to leave home. As a result, most of my meaningful communication is online. The other day, I introduced someone I have been talking to for a couple (?) of years to Aj and Z. I am incredibly selective when I do that. I need to be sure that they fit. It was an emergency. My wife is feeling poorly. Just a bad cold…I think…but, I get stressed when she is because she’s my wife…anyway…
I introduced her to Aj and Z.

*When I NEED “prayer”, yeah not really Pagan but, still communication with the spiritual and not the profane, so, it’ll do, I go to Aj and Z. It covers the bases, Christian and Pagan.*

I was worried, yeah, that she wouldn’t fit, not because of her but, just because…well…Aj and Z and I respect them. My point, after I dropped offline for the night, the next day, I read back what was said.

As it turns out, much to my not surprise, she and Aj act just like old friends. They have a deep and abiding love of their Craft. They see beyond what I see. They both NEED to be grounded. Z, well, to tell Z she couldn’t get outside would be the end of her. I am glad I did and wonder why I waited. I should have known that.

What’s the point of this bit? Their worlds got a bit bigger. Mine did, too.

*****

I decided to write this to say when the end comes, the world ends, even if only for one person. I don’t know if I say it enough to them so…

You’re important to me. You, who you are, means more to me than mere typed words can express. I think about y’all all the time…and no this doesn’t mean that I think that what “I” think matters as much as that you have my, for what it’s worth, gratitude for letting me into YOUR worlds. That YOU matter. That you guys have embraced me being different and let me into your lives. If I don’t say it enough, I’ll give it one more shot. The compassion, patience, and understanding you’ve shown to my grumpy, middle-aged, hidebound, fearful, egotistical, worry-wort self, is beyond my understanding… Thank you all for letting me in to your worlds. I love you all dearly for it.

Life is vanishingly brief. It can end on a workday morning because you didn’t see the truck across the road.

 

You Are a Rapist

No matter if she’s young or old, drunk or sober, promiscuous or virgin, same race or different, will remember or not, forced or emotionally coerced, gay, straight, or bi, none of them matter. Once you cross the line the only thing that matters is you raped her…and you became a rapist.

She may heal or she may carry the emotional and physical scars to her grave…and you will still be a rapist.

No matter if you repent and she forgives you, until your grave and then to eternity, you will be a rapist.

She will never be worth less because of what you have done to her…and you will never be worth more than a rapist.

Your action doesn’t have to define her life but, it defines yours. From that point forward, even if you and she are the only ones that know, no matter what achievements or accolades you gain, you will have committed rape and be a rapist.

If your life is spotless from that point forward, it doesn’t change who you are. You are a person that raped someone, a rapist. Period.

There are actions in people’s pasts they can rise above. It is possible to cease being an addict. It is impossible to be a former rapist. That scar on your soul, that word that defines what you did, can not be removed.

You willingly crossed the line. You made the choice to action. There is no excuse. There is no, “I didn’t mean to.” You did not “accidentally” become a rapist. You did it on purpose. You had a choice, to rape or not to…and you decided you WANTED to be a rapist. You wanted the label and the stain. Now, you get to live with that. Your parents and family get to. Your friends now associate with a rapist. Your childhood dreams just became meaningless because you are a rapist.

My opinion may not matter to a rapist. I don’t care. There is nothing lower than you. There is no human below you because, to me, you are sub-human. Contempt is a weak word for what should be shown to you. I hope you enjoy it because that is the best you deserve.

In the end, she will rise above it and you…you are a rapist.

An Explanation of this Blog’s Direction

In the past two years and change, this blog has been predominantly about LBGT Rights and religious acceptance of Paganism by the Christian community.

Lately, it has been for and to a pair of friends that are rape survivors. That is the direction it will continue to take. There MAY be brief forays into my personal past or some other topic but, those will be directly within the context of being a survivor of something, violence, rape, or addiction.

If you followed under any other pretense or looking for something else, please do not feel deceived.

I have one sole perspective. Rape, no matter if it is forcible or by emotional manipulation, is NEVER excusable. There is no circumstance that makes it an accident. The phrases “boys will be boys” or “just a little action” do not make it right. Being drunk does not allow it. If that perspective offends you, feel free to leave. If you think “he has a sickness” and being a rapist is some kind of “illness” that can be lessened by that perspective, perhaps the one that is delusional is you.

To explain from my perspective, I DO NOT WANT to write these. It hurts. It causes nightmares and physical pain but, that is nothing compared to what happened to my loved ones. My “discomfort” is minor in light of having to live with what they do. The fact that they willingly expose what happened to them and, reading this blog and answering my questions, are forced to relive those actions makes them far more important than what lack of “fun” this may be.

If they want me to write, yes, I asked directly last night and gave them an out, their answer was to continue despite the pain of the telling and reading, means, to me, they have more import than a mere typist. Their courage makes it impossible for me to not be their voice. Their thoughts and hearts have earned my voice. That they know the dark spots in my soul and do not reject me makes them more precious than any sense of self I may have.

There will be more posts directly on track. There will be stories of what they felt and how they survive. There will be discussion of why rape is not reported. It may not always be from their perspective but, they will always be at the front of my head and heart as I write. They are not perfect women. I am not a perfect man. That is the Human Condition. They are not always brave, they fear and panic, yet, they face every day knowing that. Those are parts of them that I admire, facing life with those fears.

Lastly, if you expect a “blame the victim” thought from this blog, you will be disappointed. If you expect any mitigation of what was done by the aggressor, this is not where it will be found. If you expect any view of them other than “they may have been harmed but, they are not damaged”, it will not be here. This perspective is that her body is hers. If she walks naked and drunk down the street, give her your coat to keep her warm and call a cab…unless she wants to be walking naked and drunk… not that she is inviting you to fuck her.

If you expected sunshine and light, or cupcakes and cookies, this is not the place. Rape and violence, as well as survivor guilt, hurt, distrust, and the objectification of women, will never be “light”.

Why Does this Even Need to Be Said…or, If You Think Rape Is a Good Idea, F**k You

I’m out of patience.

That dirtbag, Brock Allen Turner, was the final straw. His father and the judge that excused him was just the icing on the cake.

There is NO excuse for rape. Not for emotional coercion that makes her consent when she doesn’t want to. No excuse for misunderstanding intent. No excuse for “boys will be boys”. No excuse criminal defense lawyers slandering the victim to defend the rapist.

There is not a deep enough Pit in the Christian Hell I believe exists or whatever Karmic Revenge that others believe.

She did not deserve it. She wasn’t “a little action”. She didn’t dress like she was asking for it. Alcohol does not excuse it.

If she didn’t SPECIFICALLY invite you, keep your fucking hands off of her. Period. If she changes her mind AFTER she says “yes”, then you STOP. Is that concept hard to grasp? If it is, I’m sorry to share the same air with you because the level of stupidity and privilege you display might be contagious.

It isn’t a matter of “what if she was a (fill in the blank) relation?” That is not a good enough reason to be offended. It is, her body belongs to HER. It DOES NOT belong to you. She doesn’t exist for your sick games or power trips.

Yes, truth be told, people I love have been hurt by rape, either actual physical rape or emotional coercion that is EXACTLY the same thing. Yes, I am proud of them for surviving. Yes, it hurts me to see them harmed. No, they are not “damaged goods”. In fact, if I weren’t married, either of the two would make a fine wife…in fact, one is a “fine wife” and I love watching that couple interact; the other is merely too young and I am married but, she will be a partner in life that is more worthy than whoever she winds up with.

To reiterate, if you think rape is a good idea, if you make excuses for rape, if you condone in any manner the idea that there MIGHT be some extenuating circumstance, you belong in the same Pit of Hell I hope EVERY SINGLE RAPIST ends up in. You are no better than them. I wish there was a way to imprison those who make excuses for rape and rapists. The fathers that failed to hammer home that basic lesson in humanity, that rape is never acceptable or a right, should have never been allowed to breed.

To the Ladies I mentioned. I do not know how you go on without being filled with hate and rage. I admire you both. You have kept your kindness and gentleness. Your bravery has me in awe of you. I love you both dearly.

Crossings…

Once upon a time…
Some people were wandering in the wilderness. They had been seriously lost. They had wandered for a generation and had begun to believe that they would never find their way out. Finally, they got to where they could see where they were going. They could see the goal that they had begun to believe they would never reach but, there was a river in the way. That brought their dreams to a crashing halt but, their holy men prayed and they were given an answer from their God. He said, “I will make a path through the water and you will set monument stones where you walk that path through the river.” They agreed. They had the leaders of their tribes set those stones in the middle of the river where they had walked on dry land. Then their God closed up the river over those monuments leaving them unseen except for in the memories of the survivors…

Now, no matter what happened, they couldn’t cross back and they couldn’t disregard the importance of honoring the monuments their God had instructed them to place. They didn’t know what the future would hold, only that their past was closed to them…

Our lives are like that. Sometimes we face obstacles that seem unpassable. We get to the edge and don’t know what to do. We can see where we need to be, it’s right over there,but, we can’t see a way to cross to it…and then something changes…

I was faced with one of those places recently. I have had issues with trusting people, with believing that they will remain true to what they say. I have friends that have helped me get to the edge of the river by showing me that THEY could be trusted but, that was hard won, like the journey leading to the river. Still, I wanted to keep my distrust because it’s safer that way…and something happened. Just like in the story, one more person came along and changed things. They changed it by trusting me first…

The story shows, to me, a bunch of other things…

It shows me that, once crossed, we can not go back to our past…

It teaches that, although we fear the river might close up and swallow us, it is better to cross and begin again, no matter our fears.

It also lets us know that those crossings aren’t done alone. They asked their God for help and crossed with each other…

We don’t always see those crossings. Sometimes we look back and realize we did cross.

Sometimes the milestones and monuments differ. Some are places in time. Others are locations or objects. The most important are the people that help us and we keep them in our memories and hearts forever.

In the end, the best monuments are the memories of the times that a person neither pulled or pushed but, took our hand and walked along side. They are never seen but, exist to this day.

I have my Stones. I do them Honor by both remembering them, they are with me always, and not going back to who I used to be.

Don’t Use Those Words Again, Please

Ok, I’m having one of those moments when I need to say something in public to random strangers…I need to make sure that, by saying in public what I would say in private, that my words are not so easily dismissed.

I have a friend that I’ve written a few blogs for or about. I have no need to lie to her or pander to her whims. There is zero monetary or personal gain for me from telling her things just to make her feel better and, besides, that isn’t me. I have told her things I am SURE she didn’t want to hear. So, when I compliment, it is the absolute truth…well, there is my own bias which could, perhaps, color my subjectivity…

So, let’s begin. Do you do things that concern me? Yes and we’ve talked about them at length so, there’s no need here. Are you perfect?

Are you perfect? Nope, but, not one single human is. Yes, you are able to be opinionated and angry at times…just like every other human on the planet…

Now, for the reason, I’m writing. You say things that I wish you wouldn’t. You describe yourself with words that make me sad. I’m not a sad person by nature so, when I am, there’s a good cause…

Lately, you have used the words “slut”, “whore”, “easy lay”, and “fat” as descriptions of yourself.

*sigh*

I don’t know how to convince you that you are not correct. You are just not correct.

There’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex. Period. That you do doesn’t make you an object. It makes you human. Those first three descriptors are words that make me think that you think of yourself as an object, an item to be used and discarded. You are not. End of story.

You are also not “fat” or any other negative. You do exercise. You swim, run, and row. You are in good physical shape. You might argue that you could be in better shape. So could everyone. I’m thin as a rail because of an accident of genetics, not because of anything I actively do.

Maybe you believe my rebuttals to your words or maybe this will make my point better…

*remember the part about no free compliments, remember those words when you read these*

You know I never had kids and you don’t fill that spot in my world, for two reasons. First, because being called “daughter” has bad connotations to you. Second, because you aren’t in that spot. You are a trusted and loved friend. Having said that, if you were my daughter, I couldn’t be prouder of you.

Do you realize what you’ve done?

You were smart enough and brave enough to leave an abusive relationship at a great cost to yourself. You have realized you made some mistakes and are taking steps to quit them forever. You see and confront your demons every day and push them farther back into their cage. You have not judged ME for what I’ve done, let me share my demons with you, and helped me face mine while dealing with your own. You have become, without intent, one of the people I trust…and you know how rarely I give that.

Those words that you use about yourself, please don’t. Those mistakes you think define you, you aren’t them. You are defined by your triumphs…not your defeats.

When the haters and the voices judge you, remember my words, not theirs…My words will tell you that you do have worth. They will say that the PERSON you are is valuable. That your soul is untarnished. That you are needed for something that isn’t tangible, your mind. That the world is a better place for having you in it. That, just by existing, you make me smile.

My words will tell you that you do have worth. They will say that the PERSON you are is valuable. That your soul is untarnished. That you are needed for something that isn’t tangible, your mind. That the world is a better place for having you in it. That, just by existing, you make me smile.

Like I said up there,those words you said about yourself,  please never use them again. You are not them. Not before, not now, not ever. I may not be objective but, you earned my subjective view.

I may not be objective but, you earned my subjective view. To me, you’re irreplaceable.

 

I Don’t Care

I have a thought wandering around. I hope it makes sense. Follow along and see if you can read what I really mean…

“I don’t care” sounds harsh, and it can be. It can mean apathy or disdain. It can mean a lack of concern for another human…

“I don’t care” can also be the kindest words you can ever say to another person…

I don’t care…what you did in the past.

I don’t care…who you were.

I don’t care…that you made mistakes.

I don’t care…what you see…

I care that you survived. I care that you are someone else. I care that you grew. I care that you exist in the World. I care, and I am glad, you invited me in so I can say, “I don’t care what you, or anyone else, thinks. To me, you are valuable and loved”

Perhaps, we need more “I don’t care…”

Wandering Around in My Head, or Coffee and Gratitude

*grins*

Have I mentioned that the inside of my mind is an odd place? Yeah, I suspect more than twice…

I write about people. Sometimes FOR them. Sometimes TO them but, always about them…well, not really to me…unless you count talking to myself typing as “to” me. *grins* *sigh* In the old days, before the internet, I used to write this stuff out on paper…then throw it away. Long conversations with “someone” of just myself…that I wanted people to read but, never shared. Now I just put in on WordPress. *grins again*…*sighs again*

The thing is, they all have something in common…well more than one, gender comes to mind as a second but, that doesn’t matter…crap, more than one that does matter but, that’s for further down the page…they challenge my perceptions. They make me push the limits of what I think. Not all in the same ways or directions but, all push the edges farther from my nice comfortable middle.

It’s funny, in a way, the people that push me away from that are the ones I want closest, to keep a spot for, if they want it or need it, deep inside, away from the edges. Someplace safe…just while they have made that bigger by making the boundaries expand. I suppose that’s why there’s room for them to begin with? When the borders expand, their center becomes larger…and MINE does, too.

They kick my complacency in the head. They give me two choices, accept them the way they are, unapologetically the way they are, or don’t but, if it’s “don’t” then don’t waste any time sticking around. I stayed.

Maybe that makes me a glutton for punishment…or it makes me smart…

I love them for that.

See, the other thing they have in common is that I love them exactly for themselves. Each unique one of them.

There are 7 odd billion people on the planet. There are 4 that I’m talking to…

Ladies,
You are wild and wonderful, wise and brilliant. You, each one of you, are unique…and precious. You have caused growing pains and with them, growth, my growth. You have made the space for yourselves bigger and by doing that, made me bigger. I didn’t know I needed you when you wandered in but, can not imagine being me without you. Thank you for letting me into your worlds. Thank you for being in mine. I may not spend every second of the day thinking about you but, every day I spend some seconds. You make me think “it’s good to be me”. I hope, that in some way, I’ve been able to give you back the tiniest fraction of what I’ve gained. You…and my wife…are what make my life worth living.
Love,
Miller

*****

Cheap, free, advice, you don’t have to let everyone in but, someone. Trust an old grouch with “issues”. People are the only gift that’s of any importance. Everything is just something you buy.

 

…And Now a Word from Our Sponsor

Being me is an odd place for some values of that word. To say that I have “trust issues” puts it mildly. I compartmentalize people. I am willing to share bits of what I think as the situation demands. I can tell people about the events of my past but, not the “internal” stuff that goes along with them. I guard, with a passion bordering on paranoia, my emotions from the chance of hurt. I will readily push away anyone that I think might cause emotional distress, won’t even think twice about it. Poof, gone. I “run like hell” at the first sign of a chance that I might be coming close to allowing more than superficial trust.

*sigh*

It’s part of being me. Not the best part but, something that exists. Sure, I’m capable of affection and care but, not close enough that affection could be something greater.

So, imagine my surprise, and “distress”, lacking a better word, when earlier this week, someone I sort of knew reached out to me and I replied, just expecting them to vent and be done. I’m a good listener and keep secrets. *editorial, if you ask me not to tell something, I NEVER do* So, she asked if she could “rant” to me. I don’t know why she picked me, not sure she does. We have sort of talked. I knew some of her past. I’ve even blogged about some of it, in a guarded way, in the past when I was talking about how women are treated by men. I digress…

Then the unexpected happened, she started telling me stuff that she really doesn’t tell people. I went from random outsider to, “these are the ugly bits, the private bits, the fears, what cha gonna do with them?”…

And I freaked out. Completely out.Buggy. “Danger Will Robinson”. “RUN AWAY!” out.

I started to. run I mean. I went back into “survival mode”. Was in the process of convincing myself that survival was the best plan. That the old instincts that had served me so well, were the best instincts. That trust is “a fool’s game”. I really wanted to run. I didn’t want to allow the off chance that my fears were correct. I wanted to take the empathy I was feeling and get rid of it. I wanted to not allow the tiniest chance that I might be hurt. I wanted to be ENTIRELY selfish…

So, I didn’t do any of that.

I put some demons to bed by deciding, to consciously allow trust. By deciding to skip the middle bits and go straight to *word for the week* *smile thingie* storge. It’s the Greek word that means ” the love that friends feel for each other… Storge love is unconditional, accepts flaws or faults and ultimately drives you to forgive. It’s committed, sacrificial and makes you feel secure, comfortable and safe.”

What the hell? If I’m going to risk trust and hurt, why not risk everything. Remember those parts a few paragraphs ago about “trust issues”? If that’s hard, why not make the hardest step?…

And I freaked out…again…lather rinse repeat…a couple more times…

And, in the mean time, because of what she has shared, I am, with her permission, writing blogs that are solely about her, these two The Worth of a Soul and Redefining a Person thinking to myself, “what a s**t head you are that you would write to serve a purpose and then run away”. I had accepted her trust, shared my demons in return, and I STILL couldn’t decide to run or stay…and I found myself writing this one Feeding the Demons. In the last one, I made a public statement of commitment. Hard to retract that.

*****

It’s part of my own healing process. I was trying to help her because I am a nice guy…and slammed into my own baggage. That’s the odd thing. I may be helping her but, the reaching out that she started made me face my fears. She didn’t do it intentionally. I think that if she had realized the anguish it was going to cause she wouldn’t have. She can be many things but, cruel is not one. There was no intent to cause stress for me in her. My “public face” is confident and sarcastic. I can be a vocal person. I like to talk. I just don’t like to reveal much. *here doesn’t count. typing at a screen is talking to myself*

She uses the word “test”. We are both being tested in this case. Her’s is, will she decide I’m unneeded and leave when my usefulness is over?

Will she find herself thinking I require too much effort when she has no energy to spare? I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

Mine test  is different. It is,  if she does, how will I react? What if she does walk away? What if she doesn’t need my insecurities while dealing with her own “stuff” and does the smart thing, tell me to “eff off”? Will I say, “yeah, I was right, never trust anyone that hasn’t proven themselves”, “don’t become attached to friends because they ALWAYS let you down”? Or will I try again, knowing the risk?

In the end, only time will tell. Ask me in a year how it went. Ask me in 5 how she’s doing. Check back and see if some demons have finally been put to rest. Yeah, I’m still scared that I made a mistake but, I have to take the chance. I have to try to learn. I think that I have found a person that will not fail the test, I just hope that person is me.