Sticky Beak
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The Skinny
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...life in small Northern towns, working for assholes, boys who refuse to become men, synthetic personalities, anorexic models and their link to emotional scarring, bad marijuana trips, crazies on BC Transit, beer, piece of shit cars, living out of a suitcase paycheck to paycheck, unrequited love, Seinfeld, minimum-wage jobs, broken New Year�s resolutions, and over-limit Visa accounts.
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So I married the Antichrist.... One entry every six months ain't bad, I s'pose. Better than the previous year. To be honest, I'd all but forgotten about this site... along with everyone out there who used to read it, I'd given up on it. It never produces anything new, the lazy sod. The past year & a bit have been interesting. My highest high was forced to tango with the dirtiest, darkest, ugliest piece of my past. I've learned in the last year what true hatred is. We drop the word easily and casually throw it around... but for me, I experienced it for the first time last spring - and a few times again since. It's a terrible thing, Hate, and I feel like I should somehow be a big enough person to shield myself from feeling that emotion. I think I had for sometime, actually... but after being beaten to a pulp emotionally and mentally one too many times, I let my guard down and it crept in over the threshold and set up camp for a while. For the most part I manage to keep that emotion at arms-length... but occasionally it gets pulled out of retirement and put back out on the field. Hard not to be drawn into the hatred when the devil himself is throwing hellfire at you. My life is wonderful. Amazing. Blessed. Happy. I am grateful for all the pieces that form this mosaic... save one. Sometimes I feel that the stain of the antichrist is tatooed on my bones... on my soul... and that I will never be free of him. I have tried. I've tried being gentle. I've tried being forceful. I've tried to exercise fairness and to remain cognitive of his experience and hurt at all times. I've tried to walk through this nightmare gently, drawing as little attention as possible from him so that maybe he'll lose interest and forget about me. I've acquiesced to many demands made, holding my ground to the few that I believe in steadfastly. I've tried to be the "bigger person". But that's just a lie that our mothers tell us in an attempt to keep us out of trouble. "Be the bigger person." "Honesty pays." Horseshit. To quote The Godfather, "Just when I think I'm out, they pull me back in..." Just when I think the universe is cutting me some slack and I'm experiencing a degree of freedom, he rears his head and shakes my foundation. Again. Well, you know what???? Bring. It. ON. I've had it. I'm done playing nice. I'm done being shit on. The line of shitters is looonnnnggg, and I'm finally fed-up. I'm ready to stand up and assert myself. To be a full-on bitch. It goes against the fibre of who I am, and undermines everything... everything that I tried to avoid from the beginning - hurting needlessly - but it's time for me to arm up and protect myself. Kill or be killed. Well, we'll see. Like any war, no one comes out unscathed. We all bleed. We all lose. The only question is, how far are we willing to go? |