Wednesday, April 23, 2014


I keep all of my books.  I have art books, cook books, fiction books, metaphysical books and more books.  I earned an English degree after all.  Today I organized some of my cook books on top of the piano.  Many of these cook books were passed down from my grandmother to me, as was my mother's piano.  That's when it hit me.  Many of the people I have clashed with haven't experienced loss.  It's weird then that I have these things and not the people these things once belonged to.  It may even be overwhelming to come into my home full of things if the other person feels insecure about their things.  It's easier to berate me for having a home full of things than it is to show empathy towards me for having survived loss.  This obvious empathy gap makes platonic friendships and romantic relationships difficult.  It becomes harder to root for me because I haven't struggled materially as others have.  I will need to connect with business people, friends, surrogate family and, eventually, a mate who can provide the acceptance, support and unconditional love I deserve.  I have suffered for far too long dealing with the wrong people who won't stick around because they are too mesmerized by things to be a real friend.

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