Sunday, November 25, 2012

This One's for Dani...

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People Don't Change

I'm not sure why, but for some reason, people always seem to think that someone will change once they start dating them. Like, they're the magical key to that person's heart, their soul, and their inner "good" personality just waiting to escape.

This is a lie.

A person is going to be a good person, regardless of who they are with. This isn't a fairy tale, it isn't Disney or the movies, where the kiss from a kind-hearted soul will free the prince from his (or her) beastly shape. The person who turns into a good person because of another is not truly being a good person at all. They're being manipulated on a sub-conscious level by their own mind and their personal wants and desires. They become what they think the other person wants them to be, so they change themselves so they can appeal to their prince/princess. They don't suddenly grow independent, or loving, or stop being a cheater. It's just not the way life works.

So many people go through life looking for "the one," that person who can fix everything and make it all better. The one that they can live happily ever after with. It's an awful, tragic belief to get trapped in, because it's never going to happen. Not if that person ends up being someone who you think will change when you get together. I know this from experience.

When I was 18, I got married and ended up getting trapped in a bad relationship. Not as bad as some, worse than was healthy. I knew that if I didn't get out, things would get worse and worse and worse until they ended (and not well), and eventually I left him. But--much to my regret--not before having an affair with a guy I had been in love with since high school. He was smart, funny, and was sympathetic and could identify with my troubles.

It was a terrible choice--I destroyed a lot of friendships and hurt a lot more people. I tried to make it work--first with my husband, then, after my divorce, with the guy I cheated with. The latter ended up not exactly being the shining star he seemed to be to me for so many years. He was angry, cruel and made a lot of bad choices while convincing himself it wasn't anything he had caused. I ended up losing both guys, causing a lot of unnecessary pain and now do not communicate with either of them.

The point is, so many people have unrealistic expectations of others, particularly those they cannot have. I've seen it, you've seen it in your friend's relationships, and yet you refuse to see it in your own life. This is not meant to be as accusatory as it sounds, I'm every bit as guilty as the next person--with a few more sins than the typical passer-by tends to carry. It's just a frustrating occurrence, one I see more and more often in people's lives, with more and more justification for their poor decisions.

I'm not sure how to end this, except to say that I hope that next time, you will take that person--that person you love so much--carefully remove them from their pedestal, and examine their personality as-is, not as you hope--believe--they could be.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

The River Socks

Close quarters confine me. Friends, different textures and flurries of colors surround me, hugging me tightly, wrapping and twisting themselves around me before passing me on to the next party.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Bile

Her knees hugged either side of the toilet, her elbow resting on the seat as she held her forehead in her hand. Her mouth watered in that sickly, stale sort of way as she fought the urge to hold it back.
Hot, wet bile roiled it's way up her throat, pouring out of her mouth and leaking through her nostrils mercilessly. Her eyes watered at the acidic vomit that now had her body in convulsions, how was there always more? 

Two, three, four more times her body clenched, flexed and released of it's own accord: her body was no longer her own. Each time that burning wet stew filled up the clean, porcelain bowl; by now the stench was wafting up each time she hurled or moved, adding insult to injury. 

   Shaking, she reached for the glass on top of the bathroom counter. She lifted it to her lips, lightly took a sip, and swirled it around her mouth collecting various half-digested food particles before spitting it out again, like some fine wine, she thought wryly. Still shaking, she unrolled a small amount of toilet paper, wiped her mouth, blew her nose—gingerly. She looked at her handiwork: small yellowed chunks of food, a reddish, sweet-potato-colored liquid mixed with what looked like saliva, and a bit of blood from her nose. Slowly shaking her head from side to side, half in bemusement, half in an attempt to come back down to the reality of the cold bathroom floor, she grabbed the bathroom counter, lifted herself up, flushed the toilet, and walked out the door.