Why am I disappointed? I’m disappointed I had to do the hard bit, after being pushed out to the very edge, even while keeping my faith.I’m disappointed in the laziness and melodramatic man suffering of it all, as if there are only one set of emotions that matter within the whole mess. I’m disappointed that some people are spoon fed the answers all their life, and when they finally have to figure them out on their own, they would rather blame everyone else for the problem at hand. I’m disappointed I still don’t actually know what the problem at hand is, nothing other than it “is a problem” and “it has been like this for a while” and that this emotion, while cannot be explained or even effectively described, is the decision maker. I’m disappointed in myself for being okay with being walked / talked / officiated over, of being colonized like a piece of land and having my resources taken, all bits of myself used, eaten up and spat out when after they had fed and nurtured you, were no longer good enough. I’m disappointed that I didn’t trust myself enough to know that I not only deserved something more than such, that I deserve the fucking mountains and the sky, not because I feel entitled to human emotions like they were candy, but because I expect that if I am going to give enough love to another adult, that they can and will, in return, love me, in their own way, with all their heart back.
I’m disappointed that I was so okay with so little. I’m disappointed in not the ability of people to fail, because we all fail, spectacularly, miserably, vastly, but i am disappointed in the ease in which some of us become comfortable with our failure and rather than use it as fuel for our fires to better ourselves, let such events become a vast tar pit of selfishness and short-sightedness, a giant hole in which everyone but one’s self is expected to fill up (and will never, ever be able to fill up). I am disappointed in the dead behind the eyes look when I tell you my pain and I am disappointed that the response is ” well what about my problems”. I am disappointed in all of this, the tears, the heartache, the constant trying, that it is still all about your problems.
I am disappointed that you know nothing about being disposed of and never will, because there will always, always be some insecure, shy young thing to take the place of the last shy, insecure young thing - a potential wife, mom, angel, until she becomes just one more person to cycle through to get to that non-existent state of “what you think you want”.
I am disappointed in all these things, these moments that could have been given to someone who had known enough hurt to care more, give more, do more than roll over like a flat fish ready to die, than to be so at ease with the laziness of it all. But most of all, I am disappointed in myself for mistaking it for love and riding the ups and downs of something I could never influence, never pacify, and certainly never, ever, satisfy.
The door is there.