I learned that…
Control is fragile and fleeting
As I lay here listening to my heartbeat pounding in my ear, I am readily aware that I am in control of very little that is happening and quite honestly I feel helpless. I have refused to make hopelessness my bedfellow but his pleas for affection are becoming more and more enticing.
Lack of control, leads to lack of sleep, leads to lack of impulse control, leads to…
Controlling the narrative is all I seem to want to do. Clarity is peace for me, however the same cannot be said for pathological, pathetic, pandering lairs; they never seem to cooperate with such concepts. It exposes them and the fragile egos you always knew existed but they swear you only imagined. You knew it wasn’t a fantasy because while love still reigned, you would regularly pull out the Windex and polish their glasshouse so that the sun reflected off it so beautifully it would produce a glare so bright no one saw the ugliness that hid inside, but you. You tried to clean it, organize it, dump it, but they wanted to hold on to their trash, so you were forced to simply cover it..up. You made a Pledge and began dusting the woodwork and baseboards of their heart, mind and soul careful to not do any further damage. You sacrificed so much to make sure that glasshouse was beautifully restored, often taking things from your house to repair it, but alas your glasshouse only believed it was beautiful when other houses spoke of it’s splendor. Yet the Architect was not fooled, he sent inspectors to test the soundness of the glasshouse and found it to be unfit. Found that it was simply a polished exterior that couldn’t withstand pressure, it lacked the internal workings to be fit for dwelling. The glasshouse gladly agreed to the work until it began to feel the discomfort of change. And you know what? Instead of saying this is good for me, how sound can a simple glass frame be? It looked to you, the house that polished it, dusted it, and removed so many pieces of itself that it nearly lay in ruin and insisted it’s current suffering is your fault; the fragile house insist it was happy being a dirty, spotted, unfit glasshouse.
Control says throw rocks at the glasshouse, it’s glass, it will break…you built it…it was your resources your influence that got the glasshouse as far as it is now, why should it continue on parading around as if you didn’t get it as a $1 special from the City.
Self-control says although your anger swells and you may want to throw rocks you cannot. An occasional household item, possibly. However, seeking to destroy another person or trying to establish your narrative on the back of someone else is counterproductive, even if you are uncomfortable with the narrative they are trying to push. You know why they are pushing it and the individuals listening to them should have enough insight about them as well. What was the person doing and where were they living before they met you? What kind of money were they making? What did they look like? Did they even have a car? If you had them living and looking better then that should be the end of the story. But they should take a look at you, are you looking worn out? Do you have dark circles under your eyes and adult acne? I’m just saying! If these are not subjective individuals then it doesn’t matter what you say they wanted to believe the worst about you anyway. So who gives a flying crap what they think!
They can kick rocks barefoot. Because guess what, the glasshouse was not calling these individuals when they were dirting up their house, ripping apart yours and you were left with the mess and guaranteed these same people will not be there when that glasshouse house lay in ruin like they were not the last time!
The only thing or person you can control is yourself and if you are anything like me, that is enough!