One Is Not the Loneliest Number.

One is not the loneliest number.


Being in grave company for hell's sake is lonely.  Being lighter and prettier and denser and half of everything you were meant to be in this world to appease someone else is lonely as hell.  Though love is unconditional, energy is unabashedly finite.  While we overwork ourselves to hide ourselves, we ultimately end up ashamed.  Hardened.  On edge.  And defensive as hell when we don't get the reciprocation that we're not obligated to. 


It's when you're putting in overtime that you never get the results, right?  Ever notice how when you finally start liking yourself again, when you're happy, that people are drawn to your energy?  You're glistening on Instagram.  Edges back like they never left.  New people pop up.  Your ex calls you back.  Just to suck the life out of you and then dip.  A transferral of energy. 


There's a difference between being single and being alone.


My life became infinitely better when I stopped trying to control grown ass people.  Just because you were a great friend, no one is obligated to give you that back.  Just because you gave up your entire life for someone, doesn't mean you are entitled to that.  It sucks but issa truth.  Never lend what you can't afford to lose. Your energy included.    And there are periods of time when I'm Solange, "I got so much yall, you can have it."  But there are also times when I recognize that I just don't have it to give.  Times when I need to work on myself, for myself, by myself.


My elementary school teacher and father figure raised a valid point when speaking of my relationship with my mother versus that of my brothers.  "Mothers raise their daughters but they love their sons."  Men aren't always taught to be accountable, or responsible for that matter.  And so at times they find themselves being clumsy with our hearts.  This is not an excuse, though, nor a call of pity for all men.  People do trash things, in general.  Friends do trash things.  Lovers do trash things.  And we, too, do trash things.  To both ourselves and to others.  My trash quality is that I am controlling.  As hell.  Controlling to the point of suffocation.  I have cut my nose to spite my face.  I have made men stay that I didn't really like simply because I wanted to.  And I have cut off friendships prematurely just to have the final say.


I have portrayed the tritagonist in my own life so many times.  Putting myself third.  With my feelings depicting the protagonist and labeling love interests as the antagonist.  Did we not all know that feelings are fleeting as fuck?  Why would I ever be putting that first in life? I've come to the realization that I am both the hero and the archenemy in my story.  At times both at once.  No one has the power to make me go or stay.  And there are times when my character assessment skills have been shaky at best.  I can no longer find myself deep into some shit that I cannot get out of.  I am lending you my energy only if I can afford to lose it.  I am worth that billi all by myself.

Toi BlyComment