Believing in people is an essential part of me. Knowing good will prevail, that people are not intentionally mean. But that makes no difference when you are left behind. When people you love disappear. When you realise you invested so much time and energy in a relationship that is easily forgotten by the other party. When you realise that no matter how much you love you always stand alone.
When you are younger you find solace in knowing your family has your back. When you grow up you realise you were living in an illusion. You thought you can trust the people who brought you into this world, but life is full of revelations. Including the realisation, you don't really matter. You are sometimes useful as a means of escape, and maybe sometimes as someone who can provide some sort of service for free, after all, you are family. But when you are honest, you don't really matter. Accepting that lesson is harder then it should be. I have known from an early age that I am not someone people seek out. But I was living under preteens that partners and family would care. Such a silly notion.
It is kind of hard to ignore the dull ache in your chest. When you know you should be over the moon about the dreams coming true. And you are, but at the same time, the loneliness and loss are evident too.
When you realise you are just a moron who hoped people could see the good in me. I should have known better. I was told from an early age, I should be ashamed and that I would never be much. One has to be awfully thick to not see the clues. I guess I finally got what they were telling me all this years...
