Groomed

1

Life isn't fair.

We all know this, we've all experienced it. Karma is a made up concept that people cling to, to create a sense of relief... or contemptment rather.

Much like religion.

I can see why the thought of someone who hurt you, hurting, may seem comforting, and who knows maybe it is some integral part of the lizard brain I never learned about in biology class?

Fight, flight and a dose of your own medicine.

And it may work, for a while... you may feel a hint of accomplishment, or a sense that in some way justice had been served.

And then it wears off, and you realise you have to continue living with your demons, surviving the knawing feeling in the back of your mind until you succumb or actually do something about it.

This is me trying to do something about it. But I digress...

Good things happen to bad people, bad things happen to good people. Sometimes the reversed is true as well, but there's no rhyme or reason to it.

Life is a bunch of random occurrences, affected by your past decision-making abilities and have nothing to do with how much money you donated to charity, or whether you gave that guy a ride to his dental appointment, or how many old ladies you helped cross the street at any given time.

No, it's all just based on luck, right time and place, the connections you build and the people you know. It's bullshit.

"Thanks babe" my fiance's face appears beside my own and pecks me on the cheek before taking his mug of steaming coffee to his office.

I smile and pick up my own along with the ketchup sandwich I made for my 4 year old. It's my 3rd cup for the day and it's not even noon yet.

I'm sure my anxiety will thank me later.

Lazy Saturdays are my favorite, on the couch with a soft blanket, scrolling mindlessly through social media.

It's become a guilty pleasure of mine, mostly because it keeps my mind from wandering, in other words it keeps me from having to deal with my emotions. They can stay right where they are, bottled up. Out of sight, out of mind.

Well, usually.

And I know it's not healthy or helpful in any way and that I'm just going to end up having a panic attack or a mental breakdown and not feel anything emotionally for a few days after the fact... but it's what I do.

You see the thoughts I am trying so hard not to deal with aren't exactly welcoming ones. They're usually centered around the same theme.

I don't want to kill myself, I just can't wait to die.

Maybe if I could go back and talk to my 12 year old self it would be different. But what would I say? Sorry for what happened to you? It gets better?

That's a lie.

Would she even listen?

You see, 12 year old me had it all figured out, as any underaged person does.

She knew the boy she liked didn't like her back, or did he? No he didn't, but sometimes he did? He said he did.

But he didn't.

How could he?

Little Nadia was a chubby, short haired weirdo with a lazy eye that acts up when she concentrated too hard. Very much in contrast with her gorgeous best friend who had legs for days and an intoxicating personality.