And So It Ends...

Originally I was going to write about the passing of time, observing how my life has changed, has it changed for the better or worse, have I grown, etc.

Nope. Changed my mind.

Instead, I write about what's really on my mind. What I've really been wanting to write about despite fearing what others would think when they saw how I felt.

As anyone who reads this, or has ever read this or read my Blackplanet page, or anyone that even knows me at all... pretty much everyone knows how I feel towards relationships, men, marriage and the like. Recently there were a few that I thought would change how I felt; make me see the error of my ways and all that jazz. You know, make me see how fucking wrong I was about love, life, men and everything.

Bull-fucking-shit.

I've come to the conclusion that I am not relationship material. I simply am not. I can't deal with the emotions of the heart, the games of the mind, the bullshitty-ness of it. The fleeting happiness of being with another person just isn't enough to make it worthwhile in my opinion. Love fucking hurts like hell and I don't see why I should continue to subject myself to the pain like some sort of martyr.

Love isn't easy, relationships aren't easy. I know, I get it. It takes work. This time, like so many others I was willing to try. I was willing to make it work. I really thought I wouldn't get hurt, that I'd have this awesome ROI kinda thing going on... except...

Except that it didn't work out that way. Heart's broken. Again. FUCK.

I said it wouldn't happen.

I said I'd give myself those daily pep talks. The ones that state that I don't need a man/deserve the best/worth so much more. All lies. All bullshit. All dreams shot to shit.

AND I hurt. Fabulous.

So now what? Pick up the broken heart pieces and keep on looking? Dust myself off declare that this one little incident won't define me or deter me from future loves?

Nope. I plan to sit in the corner, lick my wounds and be a total bitch about it. I plan to be totally emo about it, channel my inner 14 year old girl and have a good cry. And once I've aired out my feelings and gotten past this fucking weakness, this sickness, then, I'll pick myself up, dust myself off and become that Ice Queen again.

Because after all, being the man hating, ball busting, bitchy Ice Queen doesn't get me hurt. I can cover my heart and all those weak emotions until there isn't even the smallest nugget of feeling left.

And I'll be just fine.

Just fucking fine.

I wasn't wrong in my initial assessment of men, relationships and marriage. There's nothing wrong with any of them in particular. They simply are not for me. Not at this moment in time. Perhaps not ever.

And that too, is just fucking fine.