Most men are emotionally simple, cute mofos. You need to tell them how you feel. They don't do layers. It's too much of a mental challenge for them; too much mental hard work. There's nothing wrong with that, though. Some tend to save their grey cells for old age, I guess.
Even if you live with them for donkey's years and let them believe that they 'know' you, they don't. If, by mistake, you share that your mental health condition isn't that good. They will not understand, probably thinking that you are overreacting or romanticising your pain, or to be precise, displaying victim behaviour.
Now, you're a high-functioning adult with mental health in the state of a decrepit ruin, and you tend to keep things to yourself. But your body or your actions belie the mask you've put on. These cute jerks will not be able to see through these things. Their practical and logical reasoning struggles to make sense of why you eat your emotions or spend a fortune on tattoos. Nothing particularly strikes their almost nihilist mind, as they don't believe in labels or in anything at all, and wear cynicism like an armour. They just live with you and watch life pass by.
Knowing this, you tend to avoid having such discussions. Why bother their myopic minds with such challenging tasks, right? Fuck it. You should deal with such things yourselves. No one's gonna die with you when you die. You are always alone, even if you think you have found a cute mofo to share your life with. You are always alone.
I may come across as a judgmental bitch here, but idgaf. My blog, my rules. Besides, no one reads these days.
No comments:
Post a Comment