Darkside55
The Freeman
- Joined
- Jun 12, 2009
- Messages
- 12,083
- Reaction score
- 93
The phrase, "give an inch and they'll take a mile" is perhaps the truest statement ever uttered. People will take what they want from you and give back only the meanest they can get away with. It is an unfair compromise in any relationship. Don't trust people. They'll hurt you if they can.
I don't mean to wax emo or turn Halflife2.net into my personal blog. I'm simply fed up with being lied to by people, when I expect one thing and receive another. I don't find it fair to give and give, when all the other person does is take.
I just got out of a relationship like that. As usual with these types of things, it didn't start out that way. He was different back then.
I was young when I first met him. He was older, of an age I perhaps should not have been consorting with, but it didn't matter to me. He had that twinkle in his eye one instinctively trusts, and over the years I grew more fond of him. I found him to be a kind, jovial soul with whom I could share my dreams. My desires.
I remember, on cold winter days like this, we'd sit together on a chair, him holding me, and we'd talk. Just talk. We'd share some laughs, talk about each other's days. It was nice. Warm.
Over time, things changed. I began to become disillusioned with him. Were I to try to and spend time with him in the aforementioned manner he'd give me this quizzical, disdainful look.
He became more demanding, as well. It seemed as though I was never good enough, that to him my every accomplishment was no more than a half-hearted effort, and thus if I wasn't trying, why should he? I should have seen then, but for some reason, I desired his approval. I'd mute myself and try to emulate what I thought he wanted, to make him happy.
It grew colder between us. I'd make him meals, and he wouldn't even have the decency to eat with me. Oftentimes I'd go to bed, his plate still untouched. In the morning I'd get up and find it picked clean, left for me to put in the sink.
I used to be able to call him. When we first met, he gave me his direct number. His "hotline," he called it; told me I could reach it whenever I wanted to talk to him. After awhile, I started being put on hold. Pretty soon his line always seemed to be off, or busy. I could call his work, but I'd only get reception and--at best--his secretary. At some point I decided to stop calling altogether.
I'd leave notes for him around the house. Little passive-aggressive letters, things I couldn't say in person. I'd write about what I'd done for him, and what I wanted--no, felt I was entitled to. Respect. Honesty. A little something now-and-then. I'd place them in plain sight where I knew he'd find them, but I'd always have some excuse to be out at that time. Whenever I got back I knew he'd read them, because they were gone. Sometimes, though, I'd find them crumpled in the trash. Apparently he didn't care for my opinion.
So I say, Halflife2.net, don't be so trusting of other people. They'll lie to you and hurt you to get what they want. They'll try and change you and make you give, but give back less in return. And while you're running yourself ragged trying to please them, they don't care, because people are in it for themselves, and for no other reason.
As for me and him, it's over. I've written him my final letter. I delivered it to his work, to make sure he got it. I think it all for the best this way.
Dear Santa,
I have consistently been good for the past several years, yet I do not feel I have received what I am due for my efforts. I will no longer be visiting you or your workshop during the holiday season, or ever.
Do not bother coming down the chimney this year; I have closed the grate. There will be no milk and cookies waiting for you.
This is better for both of us.
Sincerely,
Darkside
I don't mean to wax emo or turn Halflife2.net into my personal blog. I'm simply fed up with being lied to by people, when I expect one thing and receive another. I don't find it fair to give and give, when all the other person does is take.
I just got out of a relationship like that. As usual with these types of things, it didn't start out that way. He was different back then.
I was young when I first met him. He was older, of an age I perhaps should not have been consorting with, but it didn't matter to me. He had that twinkle in his eye one instinctively trusts, and over the years I grew more fond of him. I found him to be a kind, jovial soul with whom I could share my dreams. My desires.
I remember, on cold winter days like this, we'd sit together on a chair, him holding me, and we'd talk. Just talk. We'd share some laughs, talk about each other's days. It was nice. Warm.
Over time, things changed. I began to become disillusioned with him. Were I to try to and spend time with him in the aforementioned manner he'd give me this quizzical, disdainful look.
He became more demanding, as well. It seemed as though I was never good enough, that to him my every accomplishment was no more than a half-hearted effort, and thus if I wasn't trying, why should he? I should have seen then, but for some reason, I desired his approval. I'd mute myself and try to emulate what I thought he wanted, to make him happy.
It grew colder between us. I'd make him meals, and he wouldn't even have the decency to eat with me. Oftentimes I'd go to bed, his plate still untouched. In the morning I'd get up and find it picked clean, left for me to put in the sink.
I used to be able to call him. When we first met, he gave me his direct number. His "hotline," he called it; told me I could reach it whenever I wanted to talk to him. After awhile, I started being put on hold. Pretty soon his line always seemed to be off, or busy. I could call his work, but I'd only get reception and--at best--his secretary. At some point I decided to stop calling altogether.
I'd leave notes for him around the house. Little passive-aggressive letters, things I couldn't say in person. I'd write about what I'd done for him, and what I wanted--no, felt I was entitled to. Respect. Honesty. A little something now-and-then. I'd place them in plain sight where I knew he'd find them, but I'd always have some excuse to be out at that time. Whenever I got back I knew he'd read them, because they were gone. Sometimes, though, I'd find them crumpled in the trash. Apparently he didn't care for my opinion.
So I say, Halflife2.net, don't be so trusting of other people. They'll lie to you and hurt you to get what they want. They'll try and change you and make you give, but give back less in return. And while you're running yourself ragged trying to please them, they don't care, because people are in it for themselves, and for no other reason.
As for me and him, it's over. I've written him my final letter. I delivered it to his work, to make sure he got it. I think it all for the best this way.
Dear Santa,
I have consistently been good for the past several years, yet I do not feel I have received what I am due for my efforts. I will no longer be visiting you or your workshop during the holiday season, or ever.
Do not bother coming down the chimney this year; I have closed the grate. There will be no milk and cookies waiting for you.
This is better for both of us.
Sincerely,
Darkside
