We finally made it to sleep, after the night that we had shared. I couldn't tell you what I dreamed about, I didn't dream. Dreaming for me is no escape from reality from me. Dreaming is my personal hell. My dreams are where my thoughts and memories lay. They're nothing but pain. For one night I was able to escape from all of my pain. Not tormented by my thoughts, not being overwhelmed by my true feelings, it was neat.
"Morning babe."
I jumped out of my bed
"Hey babe.... You're here early."
You would think it was a dream, this is just my reality.
"I just got back, I wanted to drop off my stuff before I went to work."
I pushed Sam out of the room as quick as I could. Maybe she wouldn't notice that Sara was in the bed with me, maybe she would think it was someone else. Maybe she would think it was just a shadow, a pillow under the sheets...
Who the fuck am I kidding? Sam isn't retarded.
"Oh okay, I missed you."
"Right, I gotta go. I'll see you after work. Love you."
"Love you too babe..."
A quick peck on the lips and she left.
I watched her walk out of the house and get back into the car. I wish I could say something like "I felt so guilty that I wanted to slit my wrists right there to show her how sorry and stupid I was," but the truth is I didn't. I didn't really feel much of anything. I went back into my room and laid back in bed with Sara.
"....Was that Sam?"
"I'll deal with it in the morning."
"Do you think she knows?"
"No, she doesn't. Let's go back to sleep."
Liar. You know she does. She knows the way you work, she knows when shits going down.
It's just easier to play stupid. If you make yourself believe she doesn't know you're hurting her, maybe she won't have to find out. They say if you tell yourself something enough, you'll believe it. No matter how much of a lie it is, no matter how destructive.
So let's clear something up right now, I know I've hurt people. I know I've lied, I know I've manipulated, I know I'm as destructive as wrecking ball full of red phosphorous. The past (almost) six months and counting have been years of karma building up. I hope all of those that I've hurt know that I'm sorry but the person that I owe the biggest apology to is myself.
"Wow, what a conceited bitch," you might say.
If you think about it, the people that I hurt will eventually get over me. They'll say "Oh Jess Vaughn? Yeah she fucked me over. But it's whatever. We're cool now." I'll be the one who will reminisce and go "Oh that one time I was dating so and so and then I slept with that one chick?" and I sit there. And I think to myself, "Wow, I'm a dumb bitch." I've been told constantly that I'm "real" and I'm this person that everyone can relate to because I'm such an open book.
Sorry guys, most of you that "know me" will never know "me." Don't take it personally, you wouldn't like me if you met me. There's only been a few people who have gotten to know the real "me." One of those people doesn't talk to me anymore. The other few, I'm not sure why they're still around. The people that "know me" know a piece of me, little pieces that all culminate into one, so don't worry. I'm not pulling a Henry Rollins, (see: Liar, Rollins Band. Great song, great video. Might make you burst into tears or might make you laugh, depending who you are.)
Why can't I be "me?" I'm not sure, but it does suck. I feel like I'm someone else to all these different people, since I can't be just "me." I wonder who would still be here, and who wouldn't be if I was myself.
I've always felt like I have to watch my back, watch what I say to certain people, since any one could blow my cover at any time. I've always had to play Mr. Nice Guy to the people who I wanted to throw off a goddamn building because of my lies. I've lost people who mean a lot to me because of my lies. I make myself physically sick to my stomach because of my lies. I've made myself suffer, like my chest gets stabbed 37 times in the chest because of my lies.
Because of my lies, other people make it out stronger in the long run. They've moved on and they're happy. It makes me feel great to see them happy (it doesn't count when you're pretending.) But I am envious, I don't know the last time I've been truly happy. The past few years of my life have been great, if you don't count in the constant lies.
So I'm sorry, self. Maybe one day we'll make it through. Maybe one day we'll let our-self be happy.
Making myself happy... Someone told me to finally let myself be happy... Wonder what happened to them.
