Most days I just want to light shit on fire. I want to burn the whole god damn world down, I want to fight until I’ve got nothing left, just like I’ve been doing for the past how ever many months. I want to take a match, strike it and burn the whole fucking thing down, my life, my love, my reality. I want it fucking gone because it’s not the shit I picked, it’s not the shit I fought for, and yet still, it’s mine.
So I carry it.
Because, really, what’s the other choice? I lose my shit? I strike the match, burn all our lives to the fucking ground? That’s not feasible, see, because we must maintain some semblance of sanity, no matter how hard it might be.
Because the scorned bitch, she’s the one who is supposed to stand proud and swallow her hurt and live some great fucking life and be the best version of herself, but fuck you. Real life is a disaster. It’s a shit show.
Real life takes the fucking life from your lungs, it cripples you, it throws you on the fucking floor, broken limbed and bleeding the fuck out, because reality, my friends, reality is a mother fucker, and all the things you learn, all the things you realize, they will cripple you.
And sure. I’m a strong bitch. I”m a badass mother fucker. I’ll spit hate in your face and never regret it, but that doesn’t mean this shit, this terrible and fucked up shit isn’t the most terrible shit I’ve ever faced in my whole fucking life.
I wanted to be choked out, to pass the fuck out, to leave for a bit, but my neck is too small, his biceps too big and the closer I get to the bottom, the more I realize that rock bottom is farther and harder than I ever fucking anticipated. You touch this spot, this terrible spot where you think it can’t get worse, and then it hits you, the weight of the lies and the truth and you sink even further and you see your worst self, the most terrible parts of you that you buried in a yard 15 fucking years ago. And yet.
There she is, that damaged girl, leaving claw marks on everything she touches.
But you live it, you take it, you swallow it, you fix it. Because that’s what bitches like me do. We win. God help us. We fucking win.
Whatever that means.