A Side Note

It’s getting lonely in here.  I’ve been debating whether I should write  about my feelings in this space, but I don’t know who reads it and so,

why talk about feelings?

I don’t like to depress people with the day to day ostracism that I endure. Dirty looks, rolling eyes, people walking out the door in my mid-sentence, being called crazy and evil and idiot both online and off…how did the world get this way?  Someone who I know well is reading this and telling me to see a psychiatrist to make me stop writing.  Yet, a drug-addicted, betraying, alcoholic pill-whore is loved by this same individual year after year. It’s like being told that I am mentally retarded, when I’m not. To please this person, I’d have to lie, and probably even that wouldn’t work.

The people who’ve treated me the way Madeline McCann has been treated, would suddenly want to be my friends if somehow they ever had confirmation that it’s all true, confirmed by mainstream media. Nothing else would be enough to convince most people. This is odd, being dependent on professional liars to confirm the truth. That’s the sad truth of it, though.

It’s because this overwhelming hatred has taken over the world that I felt the need to reveal my own life and identity. I was thinking about the possibility that life could be loving again, like it was in my memories, like it is in my dreams. The overwhelming hatred existed before I ever presented this information. Nothing has changed in my direct experience as a result of these revelations or the justice that’s already happening. I was alone then and I’m alone now.

I think of all the children who were sold into slavery, and I feel like I’m one of them because I am one of them. It was my sister who sold me out and I think she was switched in the hospital and she really is not my sister. Then I wonder where the real one is and I pray for her protection, then I wonder about my mother’s real sibling who was probably also switched and that no one would believe it or care, unless a stray dog were the victim.

Everyday requires an internal pep talk, to pull something out of myself that provides the energy to smile and go on even when I really just want to cry all day, all night and forever.  But then I get this one ‘like’, or one retweet and, don’t laugh at me but it’s all I have so I appreciate it all the more. Literally, one ‘like’ is all I’ve generally been getting here, after all these years, and no way (until recently) to thank that one liker because it’s a locked account.  Once in awhile I get two ‘likes’. Rarely.

The price is high in terms of energy that’s draining from me and not replaced by anything, exactly like the economy. It’s like having twice as many government workers as manufacturing workers and then adding as many illegal aliens as government workers and expecting that government pensions and welfare benefits can still be paid. It’s not just draining, it’s murderous.

So there, I’ve written about how I feel and so you can see why I don’t write about it, and won’t write about it ever again.

 

 

 

 

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