There’s a time when all is too confusing. And there are times when the truth comes out, which can be good or bad or painful, or not.
But in the end, there is a time when life is revealed—and there’s a time when deep down, I suppose there’s a piece of me (or us) that always knew. . . .
There’s a piece of me who knew that deep down, this was just a pipe dream, or that this was all a bag of fantasies, and in the end, the truth came out, and the blinders came off, and all the warning signs and all the red flags become so apparent that you ask yourself, “What the hell was I thinking?”
“Why did I go back?
or “Why didn’t I get away when I knew I had the chance?”
“Was it worth it?”
Maybe it was.
Maybe the saying is true.
No risk, no reward.
But was the risk well thought out?
Was it well taken?
Or was it a lie the entire time? Whether we wanted to see the truths or the warning signs, or not, it is hard to maneuver through moments of awareness.
Sometimes, I swear, you feel like a fool.
Like an idiot. And again, you ask yourself, “what the hell was I thinking?”
It’s okay though.
Even if it was a lie or a joke or if something was nothing else but a momentary thing that was used to “feel good” like a drug which backfired, at least you know where you stand now.
Right?
There is good news to this. Once you know, at least you know, and once you know, then at least you can build from here.
The truth is people lie, which is not always as evil as it sounds or ill-willed. i can see the selfishness here. And I can see why we lie.
Sometimes, we lie just to keep the fantasy alive.
Or sometimes, we believe the lies for the same reason—
we just don’t want the fantasy to die.
But at the same time, I suppose the end was always inevitable.
This is something that I say often: I am a very real person.
I am equipped with every bit of craziness as anyone else. I have drives and desires and wants and needs. I want to be accepted. I want to be wanted and noted and like anyone else, I want to feel the attention of someone, or feel their hand in mine.
I want to feel good too.
I want to be someone who someone else is proud to be with.
I want to be handsome too.
Better yet, I want to be beautiful, just the same.
I am also a series of mass confusion. I am plethora of fears and past mishaps, which play in my mind like old records and they skip, repeatedly, as if the record was scratched or defective, and so, all I hear are the thoughts and the sounds of things which remind me of the times when I saw myself as lacking, or simply put, “not good enough.”
I want to be “the one.”
I want to be enough.
Just like anyone else, I want to be held and hoped for and needed.
I say this openly.
No one should ever be a secret. No one should feel as if they are kept a secret.
No one should submit to this or allow themselves to trade or settle for this, just to keep the fantasy going, or to keep from feeling as if they are dead inside, or alone.
If I am a secret, then I would rather vanish.
I would rather disappear than live in the background as someone’s tool.
There comes a time when the truth comes out.
I get this.
And suddenly, the lights come on—and now you can see all the lies which you tried so hard to deny.
Everything is clear and the hazy blindness is removed by the clarity of light.
But before I go on and accuse “the pot or the kettle” so-to-speak, I have to admit that I have done this as well.
I have been dishonest. I have been disloyal.
I have done regrettable and undefendable things.
I admit this here and now.
This means that I have no right to persecute anyone for the same wrongs which I have committed, nor can I honestly condemn anyone for the infractions or the sins which I am guilty of as well.
However, at this point and for me to improve and go forward and to find the life that I want (and I mean the life that I truly want) then I need to move on.
I can’t allow my past to dictate or determine my future.
I cannot allow someone else to impose their will upon me nor can I allow someone’s ways or allow their decisions to have the right to impact my life so tragically that I assume the problem is me.
There comes a time when we realize that the problem with settling for less or settling for unacceptable treatment is the apparent assessment of our internal worth.
We settle because we never believe that we will ever get what we “really” want if we play the game straight.
I know that I have done this.
I have settled before.
And I hated myself afterwards.
It’s true.
So, what am I worth?
In fairness, I don’t know,
at least not fully.
This is part of the process of improvement.
I’m learning and working this out.
I am worth more than settling for less.
I know that . . .
No one should believe that they are low on the priority scale.
No one should see themselves and believe that who they are is unworthy of what they want.
And sure, we tend to grab on to people, places, and things that help us feel better.
We hold onto memories and moments, and we hold onto rushes of adrenaline, and we grab the times when we felt so high or so good that we wished it could be like this way forever.
I know I’ve done this.
And I’ll do this again.
I want to be alive too.
I know that I have allowed myself to lose priority, just so I can hold something a little longer, like a time or a person or a place, or a memory.
In the end though, I don’t want to hold a fantasy.
I want to hold my life,
as in, “My real life.”
We tend to overlook the red flags and the warning signs because we are afraid that something out there is too good to be true. We’re afraid that something might come along and spoil the fantasy.
Maybe it is too good to be true.
Maybe the fantasy was never right or real.
Okay then . . .
Or maybe like anything else in life, people, places, and things are flawed. Thus, we can allow ourselves the right to breathe and let out a sigh of relief because, in the end, this is how life is.
No one is perfect. No one is all-knowing or always honest.
People lie for whatever their reasons are—and yes, there’s a time when the lies come out, and there’s a time when we realize this, and there are times when we feel like a fool.
But no.
I’m not a fool.
I’m just hopeful and wishing
and who knows what today might bring?
The door might open and there it is, my real life.
And I can say hello, where’ve you been?
I’ve been waiting a long time.
“Me too,” says my real life.
“I’m sorry for being crazy . . .
I just needed a moment to see things clearly.”
“It’s time we get started on living!”
You think?
Beware of the lies that you tell yourself.
They’re worse than the lies that anyone else will ever tell you.
And yes, you can quote me on that!
The Written Addiction 