Pieces Of Me [an online journal of sorts]

Entry Eighty-six: disappointment

Out of all the feelings, I think disappointment is the hardest one to mask. You try to hide it, put it in its place, but it digs its feet into the ground, crosses its arms over its chest and tells you with a set of narrowed eyes and an adamant voice, "No."

So you can't help but give in to it and, oh, how it shows in the drop of your shoulders, the sudden dullness of your eyes, and the little circle your mouth forms as you give a barely suppressed, "Oh."

More often than not, that oh is followed by an it's okay, even when it's not, perhaps especially when it's not. The stones tumbling from your throat to your stomach feel less than pleasant. There's nothing worse than unwillingly giving someone's actions and reactions control over your feelings, and then having them not even realize it.

At some point, I used to think I was immune to it. My father has disappointed me so many times; I've lost count. After so many years of it, of stones and bricks and boulders crashing into you, you just get used to it. In fact, you start to expect it, and you grow stronger from it.

I'd run out of fucks to give, or so I thought.

It's never a good feeling when you're let down by someone, but it's much, much worse when it's by someone you hold very, very highly. That, unfortunately, is something I've been experiencing a lot lately. The stones and bricks and boulders. It's happened so many times now that you'd think I'd be used to it. You'd be wrong.

It surprises me every time.

You'd think, after all these years, your best friends would know how not to splinter you, but they don't, and it catches me off guard every single time.

I wish it wouldn't. I'm tired of the ohs and okays that I've never been gracious enough to mean. And I was better off expecting the worse of everyone, anyway.