Dear Future Me,
I’m just going to type all of this shit in my chest. So I’m going to set aside all this incessant need for grammar perfection, because I just don’t want this emotions sitting on my chest fester a lot longer than it should. And I know that I’ll feel a whole lot better when I’ve typed this away. So bear with me, or just don’t read this at all. I don’t care.
I used to have this friend, I comfortable say use to because we don’t talk anymore. We just stopped talking to each other. We both had our reasons and because I’m me, I thought and still think that my reason is more acceptable.
I’ve met so many people in my very short lived 27 years of existence (I say this because I’m the kind of person who wants to live till I’m 100, although my choices won’t allow me to do that, so no, 2 decades is not “long”) and they have all come and gone, and by now I have fashioned myself a harder shell to not be too bothered by these people leaving. And this friend should not be any different. But she was and is. Because she is the only friend I had in this place.
This place is my job. It’s not actually a job. It’s just something I have to do in order for society to not classify me as a worthless piece of shit. And money. Definitely in this place for the money. Mind you, it’s not a lot, but it’s better than having no money at all.
You can probably tell that it’s not all sunshine and rainbows over here but it’s not that bad either. I mean, it’s certainly not the worst place I’ve worked in. In fact, I’m typing this at work right now and I’ve never had this amount of freedom before in a workplace. But it’s also the most unchallenging (spell check is telling me unchallenging is not a word and it’s so hard to move past the thought without having to correct it) place I’ve been in. So I guess having a friend even if it’s just the one gave me a reason to be here. I mean, other than the societal judgery and the money. Never forget the money.
This used to be friend of mine is married with one kid. She is not in a happy marriage but that’s her story to tell. Let’s just say that since we’re friends I was a constant punching bag for all her pent up emotions at home. I have recommended blogging but she was not interested. I used to even blog her woes on her behalf, anonymously of course. She got to read the blog at some point and laughed at how sometimes she is angered by the most insane things that she has never been upset about before her marriage.
So this is our dynamic for a year. She vent, I listen and since I am Bender from Futurama, I don’t know how to exactly deal with emotions, especially marital problems. So I try to do what I do best. Make her laugh and hopefully make her forget about spousal indifference’s, even if it’s just for 8 hours of everyday.
But I got pissed off. And it has nothing to do with being a constant punching bag. It was about work. Because she had all this baggage her work is being neglected and because I work in the same department as hers, I had to cover her ass all the time.
I don’t want to stress too much about this. But now, she’s leaving and we haven’t been talking for a long time. Which I’m fine with.
The thing that is bothering me is this emotions I’m having over her leaving and not addressing our situation.
I felt it’s unfair that she hadn’t tried to work things out between us when I did, like I deserved some sort of explanation, that I don’t deserve being ignored.
But I know that i am feeling these things because I let myself feel them. I am responsible for my feelings and however way I’ll display them is on me too. Which I think something that people forget, especially when they’re soo at someone. That leads to a fight or worse a passive aggressive exchange on the internet.
I do feel better now that I’ve typed this. But the thing about feelings is that they are uncontrollable. Or at least that’s what we tell ourselves. We were provoked. We were tested. We were pushed to our limit. The human mind is incredible right. That it can be willed by a feeling to do something. Stealing a kiss. Stealing. Trying to catch the guy who stole something. It’s amazing. But I’d rather have full control of my mind thank you. I want every single thing that I’ve said be filtered before it escapes my mouth.
And the only time I’d completely let go is here, in my little space on the internet. And that is why I blog.