Undecided Basket Case

Last time I wrote that I don’t have the luxury of arguing. It’s not something to pity, but it is a reality that is so deeply frustrating. Be honest or be isolated. Below is a conversation I wish I had the luxury of having:  Yes, I can ask for your honest opinion, but it doesn’t mean I have to just take whatever is said. Or that I can’t be hurt by it. I already trusted you not to judge me in that moment as I thought you had a better understanding of me. You’ve seen the multitude of chances I’ll give someone and the compassion I hold and still. Friends are supposed to be there for one another. It doesn’t mean I can be a dick, but I genuinely thought about it and went it’s okay, he’ll understand family is so difficult. He said if there’s a problem he’ll say. But you don’t without prompting. We’ve had this conversation before multiple times, at Tom Jones and outside the gym— we both know you can be harsh. This is not new. You decide quickly what’s acceptable and what’s not and drop the res

You know that video in Baby Reindeer? Telling all that shame and pain to a crowd and still existing thereafter? It appeals to me, like muck sticking to bones. I think Donny was right. You become a sticking plaster for others pain. That’s what happened with my step-father. It started when I was six, what’s still there muddling about in the brain, the hugs and the holding and the pressing of my body into his naked one of a morning. I don’t know the depths, I don’t remember anymore, I just remember that feeling and wanting to run. I think it was far more like I was a ragdoll, or a puppy, with a rapid heartbeat and accepting eyes. There’ll be days where I think it was okay, that that was something that just existed and maybe it’s me being prudish and it was all platonic, or maybe what came after tainted all that came before, but the not knowing leaves me like a pendulum on a string pressing send at one peak and blocking calls on the other. When they announced the divorce and