Gutted

In retrospect, of course it was a bad idea. I know better. Hell, ninety percent of the time I wouldn’t even have been tempted! (Or so it feels these days …)

… but they looked so cozy and friendly and I wanted so desperately to belong that the words were out of my mouth before my brain had caught up.

Gods, the looks on their faces. It was obvious that the knowledge I shouldn’t have had came as an unpleasant shock. How dare I, really? What service could I possibly think to provide THEM in their exaltedness? It seemed best at the time to brazen through it, as pausing and retreating might have drawn more attention than pretending it wasn’t a big deal … but it was, of course. It IS.

And that absolute meany. To preach at me about friendship and love – all while damning the rest of them – and then sit there aligned in solidarity against me, the malicious interloper, the antagonistic presence.

Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck her. Fuck all of it.

I will never fit. I will never be welcome. I’ve lost even the worthiness for the bare minimum effort of pretending I’m marginally tolerated.

How the pain of that burns, deep down inside, right through all of the pride I had at getting to a place where I had let go …

I’m just a huge ball of shame and stupidity.

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