“Will it make it easier on you now, you got someone to blame?”
Why does it seem that there’s an unspoken expectation that I’d want to put blame on someone, something, some mysterious force, for what happened to me in the past? I understand that people are trying to be nice, obviously. And I should be thankful for that. Yet I’m not. Although I honestly appreciate the fact that they care. Enough to sometimes bend the truth so as not to hurt my feelings. But the thing is, to me if there was anyone to blame, that’d be my silly self. And I don’t even want to go there, you see.
I’m not trying to be all noble and altruistic and peering-down-from-the-moral-high-ground. You probably couldn’t find a more selfish person. But, at the risk of sounding cliched, I do believe there is a reason for whatever happens. You may not see it now, or in a month, or a year, but it’ll eventually hit you across the ears and make you realise that you truly are better off the way things turned out. Ever the optimist. I am. Like with my relationships — ex-relationships, to be precise — the longer I think about them, the more I become conscious that it was pretty much me-myself-and-I that wasn’t fit to be in such situations. People and events only helped highlighting that one simple fact. This pointing of the finger at myself may have emphasised a/ my pathetic need to be, or appear to be, in control; b/ my underdeveloped emotional age of a 16-year-old; c/ my sad penchant for self denial; or d/ all of the above. (Couldn’t you guess which one’s the correct answer?)
Whatever it is, I don’t usually feel the need to bitch about others to be able to get over those things. But well, whatever floats your boat really, if trashing the people you once loved so dearly helps pull you through the darkness, go ahead and do it. No, I’m not being sarcastic. Everyone deals with stuff differently, who am I to judge? It just doesn’t work for me, that’s all. Leaves such a bitter taste in my mouth. I’d much rather go out and look at things from the brighter side. And if the sun doesn’t blind me completely, at least I’d be dazzled enough to see that the days to come are all but a pinkish hue.
I’m rather fond of my rose-coloured cornea.