My December to Remember: Day 21
I’m doing it. I’m actually doing it. I’m becoming the crazy ranting street lady. I can’t help it. I’ve just really been losing my shit lately. Everything feels so weird and so cruel right now. Things are being imposed on me and no one bothers to ask me how I feel about it. I’m just expected to go along with it because “it’s for everyone’s safety.” Well, can’t argue with that. Because if I did, everyone would think I was the asshole who didn’t care about anyone else. I can’t win here. I am forever the one who has to suck it up and take it. I don’t know how I came into this station in life, but this seems to be a trait I’ve acquired over the years.
I don’t complain about people. I never want to be the one who shit-talks everyone behind their backs. At least not anymore. I realized somewhere in my twenties how unattractive a quality it was to be a perpetual complainer. No one wants to hear it. Everyone has their own problems, and no one gives a shit about yours. So I largely stopped. If I’m in a position where I’m asked about another person, I never ever let on about how much I’ve been wronged. If anything, I allude to how I may have wronged them. But I never let my true feelings about another person be known. And it’s becoming clearer that that courtesy is not extended to me.
I feel like the whole world complains about me. My ways. My ethnicity. My being. I’m the one who’s there to get picked on. The person everyone else can blame for everything going wrong. And it’s fine, I’ll just absorb the blows and move right along. I’m the scapegoat. I’m the one it’s okay to blame your problems on. I’ve settled into this zone for some time, as something keeps telling me the more shit I can handle, the greater the payoff will eventually be.
Well, I’m officially at my breaking point. I just complained to you all after saying I don’t complain. I’m so rubber-band brained and all over the place that I sincerely cannot tell which way is up.
That’s why it feels good to rant on the street. Or in my mirror. Just something for me to get it all out there. Because if I do, I feel it could eventually lead to the shift we’re all going to feel. I’m not talking about the constant motion we’re in, I’m saying when the Big One hits, all our foundations will be rocked.
It would just be extremely nice if these feelings didn’t have to live as such a singularity. I don’t know what I can do to personally elevate myself anymore as I just feel absolutely broken. It’s mandate after mandate, threat after threat, work cutoff after work cutoff. I get yelled at for even being the tiniest bit myself. I try to do everything right and it’s never good enough for certain people. All this energy of feeling like a failure has absolutely nowhere to go. Lately, it’s finding its way out of my face as I walk around the city. I see the strangeness of a dystopian world with no one else I can really talk to about it. No one who knows me enough to veer me back at what I’m actually mad at.
That is not here. I don’t know if it’ll ever be here. I feel so beaten down and tired that I just want to give up and let the lockdowns wash over me. But there is still a fight in there. I wouldn’t want to keep writing if there wasn’t. I know if I keep doing this, something will come of it. Something always does. If there’s one thing I could praise myself for instead of bitch about, it’s that I do have a tendency to be right about things before they even happen. I’ve made my own predictions and have seen them come true. That feels like a person you’d want to keep on your good side, rather than one you’d dismiss and kick to the curb.
I don’t know. The world is a mess out there. But I’m still hopeful. Like I told you long ago, I’ll never be blackpilled. I can’t do it. I won’t believe all these struggles are for nothing. So I may rant and rave for a time. One day I’ll find the strength not to. I won’t swallow sadness, I’ll overcome it. Because when the real truth hits, I won’t be the one to rant about how right I was. That’s not the road I want to walk down.