And I know that I’m still fucked up But aren’t we all, my love? Darling, our scars make us who we are So when the winds are howling strong And you think you can’t go one Hold tight, sweetheart…
I’ve talked about this a few times before, once extensively that I can remember… unless I’m just implanting memories in my own head, which is entirely possible as I’ve not had much sleep today… but it’s time to go over it again.
Progressive Myoclonous Epilepsy with Early Dementia. Or, FENIB. (Which means something else entirely that I don’t know.)
Had a Boogieman under my bed Putting crazy thoughts inside my head Always whispering, “It’s all your fault.” He was telling me, “No, you’re not that strong.”
So. Safe to say I’ve been screwed over a lot. Like… this might not sound like me, but I have this… inkling… to give people the benefit of the doubt far more often than I should. And as such, I suppose that makes me easy to take advantage of.
And yet… when I find I am taken advantage of, I’m STILL angry at the people who do it. As if I had nothing to do with letting them roll me over.