This is my open letter to all of you here.
| All About You.
Tell me, honestly, why the hell do we need emotions for? What are they good for? An endless chain of excruciating pain? A cycle of agony in which, once you get stuck, you damn well know that you are not getting out. Then why? Why are us humans so big on touchy-feely crap? Don’t we already have enough to worry about? Careers? Evolution? Global-f**king-warming?
I don’t know about you people, I’d rather be better off without these pesky little…inconveniences. For real. Now , I’m not going to pretend that I’ve seen too much crap in my life- hell, we all have. I’m no different. My father died when I was six, leaving my mother to support me and a four year old girl, all by herself. My mother had to work, so I was subjected to a lot of babysitting by a lot of people. Some of those people literally made me who I am. There was this old man who taught me the ways of kick boxing. Another married woman taught me how to sing.
But all it took was one bad judgment of character from my mother and I spent three months of physical, mental, sexual abuse by a woman my mother thought to be her best friend. It’s funny, you know, she was the one my mom trusted the most. Trust – stupid little inconvenience.
Now, I can sob all I want. I can play victim. What good will it do? The real reason of wanting to be an emotional person eludes me. “Terminator” fans told me, “ It’s what separates us from being machines.” Oh you sweet summer child, we are frickin machine. An eating, shitting, sleeping, ruthless self-serving machines.
Correct me if I’m wrong.
Three years ago, I met a girl who actually understood me. She didn’t think that I was a freak because of my crude and unconventional beliefs. And man, did I love her. After a long time I allowed myself to ‘feel’ again, so to speak. I told her stuff about me that I never told my mother. And she understood. She actually did. And then ‘winter’ came. We started butting heads.
She used my Achilles heel against me in every way possible. Needless to say, it didn’t end well
Maybe my destiny, if you believe in that sort of thing, has been written in shit. It is what it is. I want you to think back. Remember all those times that you lead your guard down, then someone came along and broke you beyond repair. Now comes my question. How the f**k did you let that happen to you? What were you thinking when you gave that much power, to some stranger, over yourself? Did you think that your life is a love story?
Let me lay all the cards on the table.
People like a good sob story. Great for business. Nothing like listening to a sob story over a coffee to make an evening good.
“one person’s misery is another person’s excitement.”
It’s a brave new world where there’s every person for his/her self.