I can’t live like this anymore. Always strung out on promises that never, ever come to fruition. And the mockery of all around me pretending this is some enormous success. How is this success? How is this anything other than outrageously wrong? How do you even sleep at night? How do you sleep? Because I do not. I do not sleep at night and this has gone on for years, because of this vile falsehood you have enacted against me, continuously.
And my heart is sore. I am wounded in body and in spirit. I cannot live like this anymore. I cannot live this enormous pretence that yay! everything is getting better! when it hasn’t, it still hasn’t. I am still strung out. I am mocked by your obscene pantomime of assurance when I have enjoyed no such assurance. I am dangled even now over the next awful repetition of the next awful assault against me. This is not success. This is not what success looks like. And you have failed utterly in your fundamental duty of care towards me.
And it overwhelms. It overwhelms me and my days and my few tiny chances of doing anything differently, ever. I am overwhelmed. I am sad. I am angry. I am very deeply betrayed by your indifference. I am heartsore. And I feel lost. Even the most basic information has been withheld from me. Fuck. Do I need to draw a fucking diagram of what that looks like? When the information flow is bent back on itself so you can keep pretending you told me what I needed to know when the ONLY thing I know is that I didn’t get the information I needed? My entreaties for help went nowhere and I was provided no other means to help myself. How many layers of wrongness need to amass right in front of you before you shake yourself out of this stupor? And when you do not and have not, my questions must bend towards how your interests are served. How have your interests been served throughout this whole intractable episode in which I have been smashed repeatedly and you have continued your self-congratulatory campaign of obliviousness? What have you been getting out of this that was worth allowing all of that to happen to me in your midst? And even the most benign answers that I can summon do not provide me with any kind of comfort. Because the weight of my suffering is greater than any benefit you, any of you, could have taken. So even the moral budget is wildly out of balance and must be restored.
So, believe me now when I say, I cannot live like this anymore. The improvement must be enacted NOW, not at some tantalisingly close-but-never-achieved future point. The unsustainability of your enterprise has reared up and devoured the very last remains of my cooperative intent. It seems to me that you need to go away and get your fucking ducks lined up in a very helpful row before I permit you even so much as a right of reply.
In the meantime, my challenge is to make good what parts of my life have not been trashed absolutely. And I will have the help and kindness of good people around me, assisting me, while I do this. I will repair my life, with or without your input, or the fruition of your many promises to me. I have already earnt this much, and I will claim it in the living of my life. Your rot will be excised from my existence, your lies will fall helplessly into obscurity. I will patch over the tattered remains of my hope and steer it into gentler landscapes where it will be welcomed and renewed. I will meet challenges and overcome obstacles, new and old, with my sense of confidence intact, and my instinct and intuition will guide me as surely it always has. You might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of me, genuinely flourishing and thriving, or you might not. You might even be allowed to participate in some small measure of my glorious life. But you will never again be granted the easy lassitude of your convenient assumptions. Because this is my story. It is my story and I am writing it now. I am writing it and I require it to come to a very satisfying resolution, starting now.
