. . . some of my best friends are . . . DELETE . . .

I don’t have a huge number of friends and acquaintances. I have an even smaller number of people I would actually trust with my heart, with my soul, with my thoughts. And my heart, soul, and thoughts are so dark lately, that I have been trying to keep them hidden. When they slip out – thanks to tequila and raging bitch – I lose people. I can’t afford to lose any more.

And too, it seems as if almost all of those belonging to that very small number of people I feel safe trusting, have, themselves, been experiencing the same sort of questioning and doubts as have I: What is it all for and WHY do we do ANY of it?

I’ve deleted my Tumblr, Pinterest, and Facebook accounts. I just deleted 100 Twitter contacts and will likely kill that account tomorrow or – well, soon. Not sure why I haven’t – but – as with stopping smoking and deleting various accounts – I will do it when the voice in my head/feeling in my limited range of feelings says “DO IT.”

Here’s the thing – all my “DO IT” voices of late are about DELETING.  Okay. Well, there was entirely too much social media in my life. Too many of my relationships were with people I never see. And too, turns out, that the spin and front people use on social media is not that much different from the spin and bullshit most wear in real life.

Some of my “best friends” and “loved ones” were – in fact – no such thing. They were liars and users and pretenders and sociopaths and it took me being in a crisis to figure out that not only could they not be COUNTED on to “be there” – it was pretty much an illusion that they’d ever been there or loved me at all. Imagine that. I have a genius IQ and an almost total inability to choose people to be in my life who won’t – in the end – sell their own soul and yours too if it satisfies their agenda.

Fucks. So, except for a very few people, I am now depending on the kindness of strangers. I am Blanche DuBois. I am moving to Tarantula Arms. Watch your step.

 

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