Untitled.

It’s like a trick that your mind plays on you, when you wake up and you think that the life you went to sleep living, is somehow not yours. It’s nice, for those few moments, believing, I mean really believing, that it all never existed. It was just a bad dream. But then suddenly reality hits. And it all comes back, rushing in at once. It’s like the opposite of how nightmares work.

Sometimes I want so desperately to avoid the pain that I’ll believe a lie. Like some people drown themselves in alcohol or methamphetamines or sex to numb it away. Me? I’ll just take a good ol’ lie, the coward’s way out, pretending the whole thing never happened.

I was getting ready, you know? Like preparing myself if it ever happened. I just needed some more time. Only a little. I consider myself an adaptable person. I’ve changed myself over the years to survive just about everything that’s been thrown at me. But this one. This one was new. This one hurt. More time. That’s all I needed.

At some point it all just becomes a game that you’re part of. You stand over the pieces, make them move, see who was the one that wanted to fuck you in the end, the one that wanted to rip your heart out of your chest. And you’re almost immune to the feeling, like indifferent to the outcome. I guess by that point you’ve already disassociated yourself with the emotions, let them die on their own, or killed them before they did you. It’s almost fun, like some twisted experiment on testing the true nature of the human condition. And it kinda makes you sick, from the depths of your soul, because some part of you, at least a tiny morsel, is enjoying all of this.