You never know who people really are. And you never will. I'm at an impass. My voice has been heard but my words have not been understood.
I'm suppose to allow allowance for everyone else and be held accountable for the way I am.
I'm suppose to want to have relationships with people who are incapable of caring about me and I'm suppose to be ok with the fact that they can't care...but I ask you... What's the point?
Is there a point to having people in your life who can't care about you or allegedly do but can't tell you and won't be there when you need them because they aren't "good at that kind of stuff".
This blog, along with the others will likely be copied, linked, and dissected like the others. For what reason? I couldn't tell you. It seems to be the only way to attract any kind of reaction from the family members who couldn't be there when I was sick but don't miss one typed word. And cleverly omit anything I say that could be constrewed as positive.
I'll say it once more. I'm hurt. I lost the trust and love of a niece I adored from the day she was born and although I apologized for my explosion that was fueled by the collective abandonment during my sickness that should've have been adressed directly the pot continues to be stirred and I feel like I'm feeding hungry hiyenas every time I express anything I feel.
No one wants a foreseeable end or resolution. Just more low rent tabloid fotter.
No one will be happy until I fade away into nothing but a shadow