I am amazingly surprised at myself lately. I’ve either grown a much thicker skin or I’ve finally learned.
I am amazed at how little I mind how I spend my time. Except for the occasional friend I go out with, I spend most days doing things on my own. I could even say that sometimes I avoid people’s company or even talking to anybody. I am realizing how few people I have left that I care for that much. And the number keeps decreasing alarmingly.
Truth is this post could have also be called: I couldn’t possibly care less.
Sometimes I feel I am forcing myself to being on my own as a self punishment. Why? Who knows. For trusting people? For feeling stupid? Truth is I’ve found out I’m as hard on others as I am on myself. I consider myself extremely loyal and therefore I expect the same. If I am betrayed, betrayal is always betrayal, no matter what it is and no matter how long ago it was: loyalty is forever broken.
It makes sense why (and how) I am so easily disappointed at people. My standards are high. Because I am my standard.
So f*** it. I write people off, so what? They’ve earned it, just as much as I have not.
I’m doing it so often that it has become like driving: when after a while you are not a hundred per cent conscious of how you’re holding the steering wheel or stepping on the pedals.
Truth is though, that I am tired of having to do so many things on my own.
Truth is too, that on the other hand I am not willing to change that. Not only I am not willing, but I strongly refuse to. Because I’m done.
(This post best read while listening to:
The First Song by Band of Horses)