As if it’s that simple, just a conscious decision you can make. As if you’re not trying. As if all this pain and fear and worry and drama are things you’re keeping around because they make you happy. As if your feelings are trivial and insignificant, when in reality you feel like
the David to your feelings’ Goliath the Hercules to your feelings’ that-monster-where-when-he-cuts-off-one-head-three-more-grow-to-replace-it.
See, friend, even if you think I’m being ridiculous, you are still supposed to be there for me. You are still supposed to listen. You are still supposed put some effort into trying to understand how I’m feeling, instead of just discounting it. I am supposed to be able to feel like I matter when I start talking to you about a problem I’m having. My other friend, once she listened, thought I had “reason to be concerned”. That little bit of validation and feeling like I’m not going crazy is all I was looking for. I’ve never done this before, remember? I’m not going to apologize for being scared of being constantly reminded of the hurt I’ve spent so much time trying to put behind me. I think it is a legitimate fear. I’m not going to apologize for not being Beyonce, who as far as I can tell from her songs about her breakups, has never actually cared about a single man in her life and just keeps them around until they “show their asses” and then tells them to go “to the left, to the left” and then sits around later laughing at their misfortune. I’m not going to apologize for not being jaded just yet. I’m not going to apologize for trying to prepare myself for this–pretending it’s going to be rainbows and butterflies is just going to make it worse when it feels like a punch to the stomach. I just…I don’t appreciate not being taken seriously.