I’m crying, and I don’t know why.
I should know why. I always know. People don’t always take kindly to this, even though I seldom tell them as much.
I realize when it started
I try to understand where others are coming from, and extend them consideration, kindness, and assistance if I am in a position to provide it.
You never have to ask me. I will anticipate your need, and I will most likely offer, gladly.
But when you can’t extend me some of the same kindness, I’m not going to be nearly as responsive or ready to help. With my family, I’ve been suckered again and again. I don’t suffer fools who are too foolish to learn from their mistakes at least once or twice, family or not.
I don’t waste sympathy on those who had the means to know better, then chose to ignore the warning signs, reacting out of pride rather than reason, while then having the audacity to whine about it while taking zero personal accountability? Sympathy? Yeah. No. Sympathize my boot meeting your ass.
My clan does a lot of this, on both sides. I’m always working towards better. I can do better, I will do better, and then I figure out how. I admit to my fuckery and failings, and learn from them. I’ll admit when I’m wrong, and where I’ve wronged, and will fight to make it right.
I miss my grandfather. Part of me thinks he’s the only one of them that might have understood. He wasn’t perfect, but he was ethical, reasonable, practical, yet kind. He understood how to act out of pride and humility, without ever risking his integrity. Which he had a lot of.
I can’t count on my family for anything, and it makes me sad. I’ve had to be more independent because of it. I’m here now because of it. Maybe this is how I’ve come to have integrity as well.
They’re family. I love them anyways, but I’m through investing my emotional well-being in their melodrama and lack of foresight. I’ve died many times over and over on the inside, with little help from them clawing my way out from the grave.
I’m walking with Hecate and Hestia for now. I’ve got a light. Seeing things clearly for what they are is spinefully painful and sharp, like a thumbtack in your pinky toe.
The old woulds bubble up and spill out, and I see them not with fresh eyes but experienced ones.
When you shoot from Maiden, fuck Mother motherfucker, and go straight for the Crone, I guess this is what happens.
I’m so weary, yet alive and on fire. It’s not bad.
In fact, it’s pretty fucking good