People and their Makeup

I found a lost friend who pressed an old wound recently. And out of nowhere, a sand speckle in a form of another person made me almost shrieked in pain. He reminded me of that day when I puked my soul out in the bathroom in disgust of public humiliation. Not that I needed sympathy from where he sat, but he was there in the last horrible scene that almost cost my life.

Why did I bring this up? Because of a comment. Harmelss or not. Mockery or not. Indifferent or not. He just concluded my suspicions all along. *face palm* Sometimes people want to keep their good fa├žade to whatever length or at the expense of anything or anyone. It is an art form of fakery. I understand, truly. Hypocrisy is necessary these days, and I am not excused. I need to put a face all the time to save people from the painful truth. The same reason why I hate the question, “how are you?” I do not think people mean it. It is just a courtesy, because the real answer is a litany of whatsoever good or bad, which:

a. the other person does not care.

b. the other person will make it a gossip material.

c. the other person draws a mental judgment.

So the safe answer is: I am fine. Thank you. Think twice of asking back too. Say, “you are fine yourself as well” instead. Take note that it is all about protecting the image, and/or salvation from mindless narcissistic blab of an answer. Hahahaha! In my case, I care about the other person’s ability to take in my story. I do not want to put the person in agony or in shock or in confusion. I have my experience. It was awful and awkward. But I answer sometimes too, only to a few — those who passed my psycho hazing called friends. I know a lot of people but I only have a handful of friends.

And by friends I mean, I can strip naked in front of them and run around like bat-shit crazy of a pointless person. They judge me to my face, and I go, “I know, right?!” then I laugh with them about it. Make no mistake, I love my friends.

Not combing today,