Fighting

I have asked myself the following, many times:




Regardless of my attempts to figure out the question, I always get the same answer.

Why do I persist?

Why don't I know, by now, that most people just don't care?

It's this human intellect, this being... thing.

It tells us... me... to keep going.

To keep trusting.

That one day, somewhere, somebody will actually give a damn.

Someone... somewhere... will start to fight for me.

They will realize my essence.

They will realize my potential.

And they will fight to be on my side.

Lies.

All of it... lies.

Just a few weeks ago, someone that I thought was on my side... well... wasn't.

I spent years dedicated to honing, perfecting my friendship.

Being a mentor, guide, someone to serve as a role model.

Then, I looked up... and in a blink of an eye, it was all gone.

I have to see this person almost every day.

And every day I do, I feel like I see the failure that I put into that person.

I see the anger, violence, and lost look for desperation.

I see the mirror of myself, in my late teens/early twenties.

Trying to figure out life.

Discarding people who actually cared about me in favor of less fruitful human beings.

Why?

Because I believed I was fighting for something.

Because I believed I was right.

Because I believed something that was so far from myself, that I did everything to extinguish those that could see the "true me".

What was it for?

Naught.

Those people, those things that I threw away, I regret.

I took the people who spent years trying to help me, and just threw them away.

Now, I must see someone do the same thing.

And pray, that I have strength through watching their pain.