I finally hit the wall and when I crashed, the wreckage of my vehicle told me a joke.
It showed me all the times I've played the fool's part. It gave me a punchline of just how mocked I was and how much I allowed it all to happen. It conveyed to me every single angle of my asinine way of thinking.
What defined that sense of ideal? That honor? That need to make things right and to hold things together? Why was it so important to me that I kept ignoring the killing joke that was being told?
I saw that wall, you know? I saw it coming a mile freaking away, but I didn't do anything to try and swerve out of the way. I guess I got used to being the one to make the move, the one to try, the one to always hold it all together... the person who was willing to reach out and try... all the time with everything and everyone. I guess there was a point that I didn't want to try and I just said... FUCK IT.
The joke was on me and it really killed a part of me. And after I crawled out of that wreckage, battered, beaten, and thinking I'm a ghost... I realized that I'm still alive. When I came to the realization that if I go around these walls it would be the same people all over again... I laughed. I laughed so hard....
I haven't done this before..... and it's new.
I gave up. Ha. I give up. Ha. And the funniest thing is... this feels right.