I am abrasive. I am loud. I am opinionated. I will get in your face. I take control. I can do no wrong. I do not care what opinions you may have about me. I will walk by myself, eat by myself, and go to the bathroom by myself. I love myself. Arguably, too much. But I like to think you can never love yourself too much, only too recklessly.
But I also generously love people. I care about them. I think highly of them, my dear friends. They are little saints with their wings clipped off. I want them to feel special, thought of, have pockets of the feeling of overwhelming sense of love that they can reach in and pull out on a rainy day. I will provide that for them. Happily so. If they need to be rescued, I will rescue them.
Shit, this isn't good.
So where do I draw the line? Such a dichotomous mess that I'm in. Internally, I look like a unicorn who spits fire.
My sensitive gangsta symptoms are so bad that my best friend always knows when I get to these paranoias, if you will. He will always have to talk me down from the ledge.
Do you think I made her uncomfortable?
Shit, I bit her boob. Was that too much?
Did she have fun at her birthday? Fuck, I hope she did. Should I go back and ask?
What are you doing for your birthday? (two months in advance)
Types out--"I won't be able to make it. I feel really sick."--but ends up deleting it at the thought of her disappointed face.
Here, have this shirt off my back. I'll be okay.
On the other hand, I could cut a 5 year friendship off and never look back. I would never acknowledge an emotion of just anyone. You are equivalent to a piece of licorice candy--better if you never existed, insignificant. Don't you dare look at me, your eyes can't afford to look at something so perfect. And don't you dare speak to me because my words are vapor gold.
Don't you forget, I have gangsta origins.