“The people left in my life are few.
They don’t quite get me but they get to have me.
The people who left traded me in for a story about me – not as good but an easier read.
A story of some witch who had to burn – for safety, for peace, for vindication.
I’m not saying I didn’t falter or curse. I certainly did. Simply not as popularized lore suggests.
The Black Mirror episode pertaining to social ratings dictating living access bodes as fair reference.
What I did was I dared to be wrong, and so I’ve been wronged with exponential returns.
I was wrong not least of all in trusting those friendships and family, and mistrusting the others.
The more I was denied tell of why I was ghosted en masse, the more I projected my desire to know what I had done to apparently spurn so many people by telling them of how they hurt me – at great length and expense. As far as I’ve been told that became my greatest crime – reflecting trespasses as I experienced them, naively thinking they would be heard as I would have liked to hear them and that others, like myself (i thought), would do better if they knew better.
Now, it seems, I should have just left them and journaled. Abandoners are much more popular in current culture than abandonees. Being able to say that I tried doesn’t seem to do much but against me – though it has done a lot in lessons. One of which; how not to try. Another; how to be alone.
Others may not like me but I sure do – another thing counted against me by those looking to do so without being willing to actually look at me. But enough of them and what i think of their thoughts of my thoughts. Those who care are looking and precious, albeit few. A kind of releif from a sort of torture on display – exposure.”
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