Balls, A Private Entry.

[Disclaimer: Here's by far the most controversial entry I've made to this little journal. And it's perhaps the most honest I've been yet. I don't particularly recommend this entry for levity - for that you may as well skip to my entry about the riot I caused in the CVS. I'd almost prefer that most of you skip to the riot story because it's really quite funny, and because you may all hate me just a little bit more for what I've committed to words here in this entry. But for those of you who do read, I'll ask you, judge not, lest ye be judged, and that what you may learn from these pages changes nothing about the way I cherish and love the people that I do, because I've always felt this way, and a little bit of html is not enough to tear people apart.]

Balls.
Some people just have them. Some people, well... for some people it's less evident. Everyone's supposed to have 'em, but it always comes as a surprise to me who's really got 'em, and who just pretends.

Which is of course, why, I'm interested in WHERE, just exactly WHERE did you GET THE BALLS to show up in my room WITH YOUR FUCKING NEW GIRLFRIEND to TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CANNOT DO TO HELP OTHERS WHO, I'm afraid, JUST AREN'T AS FORTUNATE AS THE LOT OF YOU?

What am I supposed to think, when a private affair of mine, EMPHASIS ON PRIVATE because THERE ARE JUST SOME THINGS THAT I CAN'T EXPLAIN TO YOU, is interrupted WITH AN ALCOHOL INTERVENTION CREW out of a FALSE CONCERN that the lot of you pretend to share for our supposed mutual friend. Because, you know, IT'S NOT ABOUT ME. No reason to defend my right to go about my business in my own room. It's completely about your feigned concern for his depressive ways, and the effects my drinks and poker night is going to have on him. What do YOU ALL know about this? WHERE HAVE YOU ALL BEEN IN HIS LIFE THESE LAST FEW MONTHS?! Have you all talked with him? If you people had really given a crap, where were you when he needed you most? Or maybe for the first time, you realized IT'S HARD to watch someone you care about in pain, and so you ran away - ignored it and felt guilty in the back of your mind, and maybe that guilt was good enough for you - good enough to count as "thinking of him" and maybe that alone was enough so you could go on to live your charmed twinkie lives as bouncing meowing inbred APO fucks or whatever you may be. Whatever neat little carton you neat little eggs seem to come out of by the dozen.
But, I guess, for some, living a charmed life isn't good enough - you've got to do a little service to others to look good. Is that why you came back? Well, you know what? Too little too late, buddies. What good did all that do? You tell me. Did your little display of caring give him a sense of security and a place to turn to?
No. Who did he come to, because no one else would be there? Me. And you know, what? It's not a burden to me - don't ever think for a moment that I resent having been there for him - but for the record, I think it's almost poetic justice that things went down the way they did.
DON'T PRETEND YOU CARE ABOUT PEOPLE WHEN YOU SO OBVIOUSLY CAN'T HANDLE THE RESPONSIBILITY OF FRIENDSHIP.
That goes DOUBLY for what you all have done to me.
When I dealt you in that first hand of poker, I thought that perhaps I was maybe building that bridge over the cultural rift that's come between us. I thought you were actually interested in joining me - maybe not for drinks, or even poker - but at least in the spirit of friendship. I'm sorry I was wrong. I am so sorry, I should've realized that my actions and was were still looked upon as disdainful in all of your holy eyes. I'm a dirty slut who needs to be given a biscuit and a patronizing pat on the head every once in a while to keep my self-esteem high. Why, you asked, why was I drinking? Why couldn't I just "stop insinuating and tell you what the hell was going on?"
I'd tell you, but I know you just wouldn't understand. You wouldn't understand because none of you have ever hit rock bottom and found the person beneath the rubble, the facade, the destruction of everything that's fallen down. No, there were always people to catch you guys, to make your lives charmed. To meow and scritch and hug your troubles away.
And so.
So.
I could tell you right now, that I drink because there are, once in a while, things that do send me towards that place again - small things in the grand scheme of life - but things that still bother me nevertheless, even when they shouldn't at all. Small things, like the reason I never come by to visit anymore. But I know, I know that I have come to that place before, and I know that I can turn away and leave it - and it makes me strong. But I also know that there are those that don't always make it. And while I wholeheartedly say that I couldn't care less about most of the people that go by that way - I have to always be there, in case someone I do care about does come spiraling down.
But it's something I'd never tell you anyways.
Because I don't do it for the image.
I don't do it because I know I'll get anything in return for it.
I don't do it to get acknowledged or to be told "you are such a good friend, scritchy scritch meow."
I do it because, well, because there are a few people that I genuinely give a crap about.
And...
And I give a crap about you.

Which some people will call a shortcoming, a flaw, a hopeless thing I do. But... I do care. Which is why, I usually forgive you, and almost do now. Even for inciting so much anger and indignation in me. And for the pain. The pain that I would gladly endure so much of just to know that everything is okay for you. But it's also something I'm too afraid to ever say to you - because it might make you see things you shouldn't have to deal with - things like people in pain. But know that if you do catch me, occasionally - know that I'd happily, willingly, rather be in pain than forget and be without you in my life.

You ASSHOLE. I love you.