Recently I had dinner with a good friend and we talked about betrayals.
I could feel the depth of how profoundly scarred we are by the very people we loved. Maybe we are cursed.
We are damaged goods. Too damaged to be salvaged nor saved and even if we could be, I do not want to be saved. I have fallen in love with this disaster of a person I have turned into and I want to remain in it.
I have become more cynical and distrustful of everyone I meet. I love the games I play with myself about the next person to betray me so much that I actually bet on it.
I actually felt sorry for him.
I feel sorry for anyone who gets betrayed.
The shock and pain that comes with it is so great, very few people can deal with it.
As he ate, I watched how he tried so hard to pretend to be fine.
We talked about other things and laughed but I wonder how much of those laughter were genuine.
I watched him the whole time we were together.
I watched him because it reminded me of my own painful betrayals.
I watched him because he reminded me how much I pretend to be fine, when I am not.
I watched him because he was a reflection of who I am.
Sometimes humans are the mirrors that reflect who we truly are to us.
At the end of dinner I felt more sorry for myself.
I have not healed from my own betrayals.
I am still as damaged as the day I was betrayed.
I stopped being genuine the day I realised people who claimed to love me could betray me in the most brutal ways. Some were family.
Who can I be genuine to?
If after revealing my true self to someone, this person is going to betray me, why bother?
It is due to this, “Why bother?” question I keep asking myself that has made it so hard for me to be genuine anymore.
I looked at him and I saw me.
It was not a good sight.