Digging Into the Skin

 The thing that digs into my skin the most
Is that I thought, in the distant past,
That she actually deserved my love...
And that she would accept it
When given...
Neither of those things turned out to be true...
That's not even meant to imply that my "love" is anything special,
But...
Until she gets help,
She doesn't deserve anyone's romantic love...
Or, more precisely,
No one deserves 
To be extruded through her
Toxic perception and expression of "love"...
She rushed us along...
Rush, rush, rush...
Hoping to lock me in
Before I could open my eyes
And use discernment...
It's an interesting feeling
When a woman proposes to a man...
How could my vanity refuse,
Or even consider weighing the future implications of such a decision?
And so I didn't weigh anything...
I was in "love" 
And she appeared to love me,
What could possibly be questioned or denied?
And so, I stepped into the open pages of what felt like could be a fairytale,
A fantasy,...
But it was really a gothic horror story...
A tragi-comedy romance...
Film noir...
I've always imagined that true love was something you did with your whole heart...
Some people don't have a whole heart to work with...
Some of those won't even give you but a scrap of it...
Like dogs snarling over meat...
A prison inmate, freshly released,
Always sitting back to the wall,
Hands guarding the plate...
One can only work with the tools they've been given...
As it turns out,
Some tools are more useful than others...
Not everyone is of equal worth...
Not everyone even has tools...
Not everyone deserves a participation trophy for trying and failing...
Persistence, like patience,
Is its own reward,
And you've got to put in the work, blood and sweat
To succeed...
Rationalizations, emotional manipulation, and self-pity
Are the only tools some people have...
Setting themselves up to fail with pathological determination...
And succeeding spectacularly
At failure...
Are there any awards for that?
There was certainly no reward,
Even looking back to the "good times"
I realize were, on closer examination, fueled by her pathology...
Even the sweetest of moments 
Can get stained by the bad moments,
The worst moments,
As time stumbles on...
Memory is flexible and plastic...
We can choose to control what we do,
But so many of us refuse to take on that responsibility...
Emotional reactivity
Just a big wave to surf,
Rather than using the wings
That we all have
To fly above it...
Our wings are our ability
To rationally and intellectually problem solve...
It's a natural part
Of the human condition...
Our ability to win
Against all odds...
Don't fly too close to the sun,
But, at least, learn how to get off the ground...