Jackie was given a survey, from the shipping company, where we returned the items she had, very cheaply, purchased. The first question was, What was your reason for visiting our store today? I told her to put down, Returning stolen goods. 😆💁♀️
It’s just in my nature to be a smart ass. I have a hard time controlling that part of me.
I honestly think I get more sarcastic, when I’m struggling not to feel sad or angry. I’d prefer to laugh, than cry. I have this idea that, I look stronger, if I come off “bitchy”, than if I show my injury to people. Like, if I share my weak spots with someone, they’ll now know exactly where to kick me. I’m afraid. I’m afraid to expose myself. I’m afraid to rip the bandage off of a bleeding wound, revealing its existence. What if they pour salt on it? It already hurts so much. I can’t risk more pain. I’m recognizing this fear that I have. I can’t say that I was particularly aware of it, before. I suppose I must’ve made this pattern, in my behavior, obvious to those around me. It’s just, I’ve never looked at it, myself.
I’m having a hard time with someone I love, very much. Someone I’ve never written about. She matters to me, though. I’m helpless, as I watch her seek comfort in someone who has done nothing but hurt everyone else around them. It’s heartbreaking. She’s grown. I can’t forbid her. I have to sit back, and wait for this person to give her the kind of wounds I’m still doing my best to cover with bandages. It’s frustrating. I’m frustrated. I don’t love her any less, because of the things she’s doing. She’s searching for someone to love her. I get it. I know the feeling all too well.
Why is it, when you’re young, you feel as if no one is listening to you? But, when you’re grown, you’re desperate for someone to tell you what to do? I wish she could hear me. I’m listening. I’m searching for a way to tell her the truth. She neither talks to me, nor listens. All I can do is wait. I pray she finds me again.