Don’t believe them, don’t get bitten twice
I think about writing things in some kind of order. I feel like I have a million things yet to say about all the shit that happened before the car accident- the cancer, the divorce, etc., but then things come up in my head in whatever order they’d like to. So that’s where I need to go. First, I’m going to say that there isn’t any one specific thing that has happened that has made me think about this. Nothing horrible happened to me today. Nobody stabbed me in the back (that I know of) and nobody broke my heart. I all too often will tell you that this is no longer possible, because I just don’t care. Of course, if you know me, you know that I’m a sap, always will be. I care a lot less. A lot less. But I care. I can’t help myself. So it is always a shock to me how much some people just don’t a give a shit about the people that have come into their lives- however brief, however tumultuous. I don’t understand it.
I’m not explaining myself well. Let me try again.
After my accident, as I have said, the support I received was amazing, overwhelming, something I will never ever be able to express or thank anyone enough for. At the same time, there have been a select few over the past several months who had enough of a part of my life at one point or another that you’d think they’d at least ask how I was. I think about that- how some people I barely knew did so much, and others did nothing. It’s got me thinking about exactly what someone would have to do to me- what lack of decency they would have to have for me to flat out refuse any kind of help. For me to not be bothered to ask if they were okay. I keep coming up empty. Maybe I won’t help someone in the same way, maybe I will be stingy with the amount of myself that I will give up, but it will be something.
I think about this and whether or not it just makes me foolish or naive, and maybe it does. Make no mistake, I put myself less into new people these days, and I’m glad for it. There are a very very select few that work their way under my skin just enough to make me care a little more- and it always scares me, but in a good way that makes me feel more human and alive. Getting completely obliterated every now and then keeps me honest and (I hope) kind. But really, I don’t know any other way. I don’t want to be any other way. I may be the person who will try to keep a brave face about absolutely everything as much as I can, but when you get to me, you get to me, and you’ll know it. Everyone else- every thing else, is just decency and compassion. I will never understand what makes a person reach that point where they just don’t have it at all. Maybe it is some kind of irreparable damage that happened to them, some people are just born with that piece missing. I’m glad I’m not. Whether it stings just a little or it fucking levels me, I am so glad I will keep going back for more.
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