Honesty
I don’t even know how many follow me, or even if anyone reads my posts.
I think i’m a skimmer, you know, the blogs you just skip over because it’s just self pitying jargon about how shit their life is and it’s just a waste of your time to read their attention seeking shit.
I don’t know whether my blogs are attention seeking, probably are. I don’t have friends to confide in. Not in my town anyway, my closest friend is thousands of miles away and to be honest i think i nearly lost her too. My life isn’t terrible and i am lucky to have what i have, what my mum and dad gave me, my morals and value and the things i have done and got for myself. I’m not disputing any of that. So i guess i confide in the anonymous, just incase someone reads it and thinks for a split second, I hope she is okay.
I carry the disappointing feeling with me everywhere. Feeling like someone has punched through my chest and left a hole, that i carry around, trying to hold together. Some nights I just can’t, go and lay in the bath and forget myself and my life outside that door and remember who i used to be, before it started to hurt. Holding on to memories i’m scared to forget. Remembering being happy, or feeling safe.
But then reality kicks in, with an almighty push. The hurt eventually turns to numbness when things look a little better and i start to forget about the hole in my chest for a while. Little things like a kiss on the forehead, or doing something right and feeling appreciated for it. Like today, a lady called june jill hugged me because she understood, behind the smile and the big bright eyes, is me, trying to deal with what life throughs and struggling, like herself, she had 46% of her kidney function and it was decreasing, when she hits 40% she will have dialysis and after that, she will need a kidney transplant, but she was the same, hiding behind the smile, laughing because crying isn’t an option, not infront of other people.
All I wanted in my whole life was to feel like I was remembered, from a crowd of thousands, one person looked at me and remembered my face and thought about me sometimes. In reality just for the man I love, to love me back and to treat me like i was the only thing he needed to be alive. Without me, he wouldn’t, couldn’t live. I think it’s a fairytale, we all wish for this, but it’s not real. I will never feel like someone feels like that for me.
Sorry for the bad grammar and the rant and everything.
