I really wish I didn't give a fuck about what people thought of me. I really wish that.
Because then I'd have an excuse. Then I'd be able to shut people out, dwell in anger
and become a hermit.
But that's not me. And I will always be the first one to say 'I'm sorry' even when I
don't mean it just to get the forgiveness ball rolling. I'm a doormat.
I'm at a place of figuring this weekend - a place of remembrance. A place of
yearning and learning.
I love it when people close to me dish out insults but can't take them back.
I love the double standard of people who isolate themselves, say whatever the
fuck they want, and then go back into hiding.
It must be nice.
It really must be nice.
The road is slippery. Check your tires. Bring carpet strips.
