Cannot respect a weaker man, cannot stand being “led” by a stronger man.
They always call depression the blues, but I would have been happy to waken to a periwinkle outlook. Depression to me is urine yellow. Washed out, exhausted miles of weak piss.
—Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects
Forgive and forget?
I don’t think those two come hand in hand. Either you forgive, or you forget.
Or maybe that’s just me.
If I decide to forgive someone, I’ll never be able to forget whatever it is I’m forgiving. Either because I enjoy the pleasure of knowing that I’ve been the bigger person (at least once), or because I’d like to remember whatever it is that person did that needed forgiving in my part, and be very careful not to let it happen again. At least if it happens again, I’d take comfort in the knowledge that it’s not my fault and maybe some people are just born assholes.
If I can’t forgive, I’d eventually forget. But one small trigger can bring all that memory to life. Like that one time someone practically called me a whore behind my back and in front of my guy friends, and neither of my guy friends said anything to “defend my honor” (I know, I know, what honor?). You mention that someone in my presence, all those memory came back to me. Or if you’re talking about vermin, I’d remember them too. And if someday, somehow, I got a chance to get back at them, you know I will.
Yeah, I’m a vindictive bitch. Careful if you cross me.
I guess I am a TWIT. Teenage Women in their Twenties.
awesome reading nook
God help me I want this