Why is it that only after two glasses of wine do I somehow muster the courage to tell people to go fuck themselves?
Why is it that everyone feels the need to shelter me or protect me from life?
I am strong.
Deja vu.
Just because someone who is 5' and small-boned can't lift a 7' tall tree up and into a big hole or maybe can't open a new jar of spaghetti sauce doesn't mean they are weak of spirit.
While my life was cartwheeling straight into hell I did do something all by myself. I got a new book deal. It's small but it's all mine and I'm tucking it away in case everyone I told to go fuck themselves leaves for good. Yay me. I wish I felt like celebrating.
And everyone always leaves anyway don't they? I left, and I'm the only person I could ever count on. Life is one huge risk and I see why people medicate and self-medicate through the harder spots. It's unbearable.
This was all a very cruel experiment with me as the victim and it's a role I never want to play ever again.
I'm so angry.
Jacob didn't leave, if he had it would have been so much easier than this.
