Liar Liar Pants on Fire

 I lied. And it’s the one thing I can’t stand. I didn’t mean to, and I didn’t even realize I was doing it at the time, but I’m still pissed at myself for it. So, I’ve got a few things to clear up from my first post.

Not “everyone” dips out. Some people have fought like hell, trying to find the right tool to break down my fortress of a heart—those damn superhero strength walls I’ve built over the years. But, at the end of the day? I’d dip out too. I mean, let’s think about this:

Me. I’ve been through hell and back so many times, I could probably write a collection of books longer than the entire Mommy Dearest series. They’d need to move Patterson over to make space for me. These walls I’ve put up? They’re damn near pyramid-level strong. No one even knows where they came from or how solid they are.

And the “select few” that I’ve let in? Well, she’s cool—actually, she’s more than cool. She’s hot, even, if you catch her at the right angle. But after the 567,908,981st attempt to break through, and getting rejected again... You start to wonder, “Fuck this. I’m out.”

So, no. Not “everyone” dips out. But I sure as hell push people away in my own fucked-up way. I stay home, buried in my bubble, because to me? This is my safe place. It’s where I can hide, where no one can get too close, and where I can just... breathe.

And yesterday? I realized that this makes me sad.