What's so sad...

I'm trying this new thing where I steer away from things that make me feel shitty. And hanging out with you is probably not a good idea because you make me feel shitty.

What's so sad is that I enjoy your company and I know you enjoy mine. I see the way you laugh at my jokes and commentary. I mean, why else would you be filming me on your iPhone and constantly take pictures of me when we walk around town. It's the after-effects that make me feel like the crap.

What's so sad is that I know this shitty feeling is going to happen. I know how things will end and I know how I'll feel the next day. As if I know your every move and by now, I think I do. And I keep letting myself feel this way. Whether you're doing this unintentionally or out of pleasure, you treat me like dog shit. You really do. Hell, you would probably whip out your iPhone and film a dog eating me (the shit) after he shits me out. Gross, I know. But now you know that you're capable of making someone feel very low and bad about their self. And you do that to me. I let you do that to me. Relating to drugs, highs don't last forever. And when I'm with you, I feel...high. I'm fine. I feel good. But after you brush me under the rug, put me back in the cupboard, save me for a rainy day*, that's it. You're done. You've finished what you felt you had to do with me and now you're stowing me away until you decide when you'd like to see me again. And fine, maybe it's usually after I tell you I'm around, I'm not busy, I want to see you. And okay, I'll give you some credit, you ask me what I'm doing but never fully ask anything more from me. You don't want to be the vulnerable one. You leave that up to me. Maybe no one is around to entertain you. So you find me in a recycling bin, like the disposable friend that I am to you, and put on your friendly pants and take me for a walk.
*What's weird is that every time I see you, it's raining.

What's so sad is that you used to not act like that. You were different. You were something I'd like to call nice. And now you play. You toss aside. You laugh not with me but at me. You hurt. I feel like a charity case after we hang out. As if you've done your good deed for the day, and then poof, I'm out of sight, out of mind, out of your bubble of people worthy enough for a response. Because both you and I know I'm not. I'm just somebody that you used to know.

What's so sad is that this excuse I'm making - this constant apology to myself for acting dumb - isn't going to slide. After awhile, I'll start to realize that change needs to start somewhere. I need to change. I need to let go. You see, what's happening is this - I'm holding onto the good times, the nice you, and I'm hoping that you have the potential of returning to that part of you. But I'm not you and I'm also not a genie that can make you change into what I want you to be (although asking for someone to be a little nicer isn't much, right?). I enjoy the idea of you, like that Dave Matthews song. But I know that's not realistic. It's an idea. You're an idea. That's it. Unless, and until, you want to change then keep doing what you're doing - ignore me, laugh at me, play with me, lie to me, ignore me some more. Because I'm not going to try. I can't try anymore. I can't force things to happen. I need to wake up. The good times are over. No more Mr. Nice Spice.

You're sad.