La mala vida

When things get confusing I have to ask myself, “What do I know to be true?”

As in what can I rely on? Even if I assume selfish motives and faulty logic and lack of self-awareness…there are some things that are irrefutable amongst the mendacity that pervades the world. That is inside of me even.

And then I can extrapolate what else must also be true for this universe to hold together.

It keeps me from falling into that void I stare at.

My grasp on reality is always a bit tenuous because I was raised to be blindly obedient and because my value as a human being was tied to what I could give to others. And because I lacked social awareness to discern when people didn’t have my best interests in mind but acted like everything was done for my benefit.

When that is your coding, reality isn’t grounded. It’s whatever other people want it to be and you just keep having to adapt continuously as the very laws of physics change to suit narratives and mood swings.

Like a video game. Keep you head on a swivel. Feel the changes in barometric pressure for any signs of danger. Figure out how to survive and deal with the emotions later. Get ahead of the damage. Put your needs at the back of the queue. Make everything look perfect.

It’s Mexican flavored toxicity. The love in my house was filled with as much poison as Mexican candy was filled with lead.

So many warped narratives.

I deleted WhatsApp to get rid of the Israeli. I deleted all of his phone numbers. His message archives. His photographs. And he still managed to get a hold of me. Is that care? Is that persistence a measure of love?

I reduce everything to essentials. One, I am beloved. Two, if someone wants you around they will leap over tall buildings.

And I come back with this: he wants me around when he wants me around. Unapologetically. Selfishly. Messily. Half-assedly.

I’m amusing. And I will trade all of my value cheaply. I will fake everything to let him think he pleases me.

No more. No more. No more I say in all six directions. No more. I know what real love tastes like. I won’t settle for substitutes. I won’t pretend to enjoy something. I won’t acquiesce to evasive answers. I don’t need to fill an emptiness with more emptiness. A negative times a negative does not equal a positive.

This manifesto slowly builds. I will not be made resentful, brittle and frail by any of this. That some of what I perceived to be true wasn’t doesn’t make the entire Jenga tower crumble. It wasn’t my foundation. It was my Dumbo’s feather. Grasping it allowed me to fly. Me, so unaerodynamic.

I don’t need the feather anymore. I can fly without it.

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