I've come to accept that nothing in life was ever mine to keep.
Not my toys, not my clothes, not my food, not my school supplies - not my relationships.
I hardly ever put any effort into any of them in the past, I was young and naive and surviving abuse. Of course there wasn't any time. Now though, there's plenty, and yet I can't maintain anything.
Try as I might I am unable to make something solely mine. Something to keep.
I suppose that's selfish and wrong to ask.
Lifes always changing, it's best to embrace that change, and I typically always do. It was no sweat off my back when I was a kid, but.. as I've grown, I've gotten so lonely I sometimes feel sick.
I don't want to force anything, I don't want to have to pretend to be someone else either. I don't want to lie.
But I think it's been made clear, no matter how much self sacrifice I pour into something, no matter how much I give, beg, claw, and cry, nothing was made for me. And trying to shape someone to accommodate me isn't right. I can't carve out myself to fit someone either because they'll walk away anyway.
I'm nothing more than a dog, a stepping stone in their journeys. And one day, I'll make peace with that. But it's been made clear I'm not built to last in their stories forever. I'll let them take and take until I have nothing left to give and they tire of me.
I've fucked up once. I was lucky they were so kind. I won't get that kind of understanding from anyone else, and who knows how long it'll last.
They too shall tire of me and I'll be alone.
Nothing is for me to keep.
Its a ridiculous craving and they deserve better. You're not what they need, what they deserve. Nothing but dead weight, honestly.
Try as you might, you never get very far in anything you do. Always someone better at you in something. Their work will always be more impressive. Always more, more, more. Until your legs give, and you have nothing left to offer.
Bitter jealousy is hard on you, because no matter what, it'll just turn back to bite you. You don't want to weaponize it, you hardly want to feel it. Because it's a reminder that you're a means to an end. Not the first pick, not the first anything really. And that when all is said and done, you'll be in the same place you always have been.
Mourning lost love is getting exaughsting yet you can't stop doing it, even if you tried. Always the lover, never the loved.
How tired we must all be.
