Almost Changes Nothing

Time and experience has not made me a better person… Hell, I have trouble believing, sometimes, that there’s much good left in me… Although some may beg to differ.

It was a combination of two succubus’s that drained what little hope and strength I had left –one a love and, the other, a sick employer. I’ve never been one affected by stress and, lately, any noise or yelling or screaming or simple, disapproving tones turn me inside out. Dramatic, yes, but it seems I’m allowing myself to suffer from some mild type of social disorder and it’s driving me crazy.

I’ve never considered myself someone easy to ignore or, worst, overlook, but I can’t manage to command the attention I deserve anymore. On most days I wish I could revert to the stronger person I was before; the person I was before I was broken; the person I was before someone else mattered more to me than me.

So many things happened this past year to harden my soul: thoughtless mistakes, feeling abandoned, taken advantage of, robbed (of my innocence, naivety, etc.), etc. They say those most often and most willing to over-extend themselves hurt the most; not because they don’t want to help, but because those you do fail to see that maybe, by helping, you can in the process help yourself, too.

This year I almost died, I almost fell in love again, I almost lived freely, I almost felt like I could help and change someone for the better –I, alone -but I’ve learned that almost changes nothing… Because after a few months of almost dying, my life didn’t seem as important as the day after I almost did. The true secret: it never felt important, even the day after; everything was still the same, only altered temporarily.

People move on. Not just lovers and great loves but friends and family, too... And by no means is it punishable, as everyone deserves to pursue their individual paths to happiness, but, for every person I help, a piece of my happiness goes with them.

For every one of my life’s milestones I’ve felt the most alone, even standing on a street corner with pieces of iron, plastic, and broken glass. I, not once, felt comforted or forgiven for shattering the image(s) of a “perfect” little girl. On the other hand, I felt shame (even though the fault wasn’t mine), guilty, alone, emotionally abandoned, and betrayed. I couldn’t cry. I never fully cried. I only learned to sweep these traumas under the rug to avoid dealing with them. If they weren’t acknowledged, then they never existed… which can, in many ways, explain why it’s so hard for me to remember anything these days.

Almost changes nothing. It didn’t change me for the better… and if it didn’t change me, you can understand how petty it was for me to think it’d change anyone else. I always believed that the person you are today is the best version of you because you’re supposed to be filled with more wisdom and knowledge, but getting to know who I am now, makes me all the more unsure of this notion. Sometimes I think we’re only remnants of the good, simple people we used to be.

This smile I wear reminds me of the devil, only I, unlike her, choose not to terrorize the innocents; I only fool them into believing I’m fine. I only choose to understand that almost changes nothing.

***To this day, I've never understood why I was spared… And until I do, in the back of my mind I’ll always think that maybe, just maybe, God got it wrong.