I was supposed to continue with the story I had going on my last post, but despite having the plot flow going through my head over the last few weeks, I couldn’t seem to structure it to a solid entry. Why? Because things happened this past week that threw me off. Way, way off that I spent the weekend downing an entire bottle of Jack Daniels… by myself.

In any case, I’ll still have that story plot pinned down and will pen it hopefully by next weekend.

But let me just say this: my life experiences made me develop trust issues. And just when I thought being myself and being able to treat others how I want to be treated will make things better, it ultimately let my guard down somehow; and as always, people take advantage. Sometimes, people who I thought would never do.

I’ve never felt so disappointed, betrayed, and frustrated in years. Not to mention being the most alone since the closest people I would’ve run to are either caught up in this, or are too proud to keep in touch after they themselves have somehow did me wrong that they felt that they don’t need to reach out; or worse, they think that I need to reach out to them.

I don’t know what this week will bring, or how the succeeding weeks or months will fare. But let me make one thing clear: I’ve been alive and have endured enough to know what needs to be done. I’ve made a lot of sacrifices against my own personal happiness, and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again for someone I care deeply about; and if that person is threatened, hurt, or maligned in any way, I would jump in in a heartbeat to defend their dignity at my own expense. And believe me when I say: you do not want to make me angry, much less back me into a corner and force my hand to do something you will definitely regret.

Death doesn’t scare or faze me one bit, so there’s nothing one can do to me anything less that would make me cower in fear or give in to pressure. You want to get rid of the best of me? Then you would have to kill me. Literally.

Try me. Test me. Provoke me. I dare you. I fucking double dare you. You’ll either wish you didn’t, or felt so fucking sorry that you made a Karen or Maritess out of yourself for such a petty thing.

Let the week begin.