On Disillusionment


The bass beats drum slowly, steadily, loudly to one side of my bedroom. I toss and turn, the occasional headlight illuminating my angst against the music. I wonder why I am disappointed. I thought myself inured from people, from attachments but yet again, I lie awake pondering the depth of my hurt.

For someone who has been hurt time and again, I don’t seem to learn the lesson. Each time, I walk away nursing my pain, licking my wounds only to put myself in the same position a few years down the line. Family, friends, acquaintances, there seems to be distinction in how much I feel.

Is it ego? Is it that I feel my trust has been misplaced? Is it because I feel singled out to be snubbed? Tears threaten to fall. I blink hard and focus. The beats seem milder. Just when I think it is over, it starts again.

Do not react. Do not react. Do not react…

The ticker runs on the inside of my head as my fingers itch to write a snarky update or post something on social media. I wisely refrain and make it a post instead. The snark is replaced by self pity.

I wish no one had the power to hurt me. 

Then I realize it is I who give them the power.

Stay detached. Stay cool. Stay away.

I seem to have no trouble advising myself. I only wish I follow what I decree.


Author. Parent.

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