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I may have to give up on posting about politics. Recovery is too important to sully with politics. I have strong opinions about it, but I see what others write and it seems like my voice is little but an echo. Not that I'm an authority on recovery either. I have my experiences in success, survival, and utter failure. I went back to school long before I was ready, I don't regret this at least I finished my degree, it was just too hard on myself and others. I burned many bridges simply by not having enough energy to do the work. Illness and recovery take energy, equal energy and it takes time to learn how to recover. It takes time to unlearn all the bad habits that made me this sick to begin with. There is no level of recovery to make this go away completely, there is only treatment. Even in treatment I have issues nearly every day. I tell people exercise, nutrition, and meditation, but I haven't meditated for months now. I exercise, this helps. I know how to recover now, but putting that knowledge to work is not an easy task. It feels like I'm dragging a mule across a field in a lightning storm, I'm stubborn and change is slow. I want to work. I had no idea just how bad applying for disability would be. I didn't know simply being at home too much trying to recover and walking to appointments would start horrific stress inducing rumors causing more stress than any job I've ever had. I didn't know how disappointed my family would be or what losing my house would feel like. I didn't realize how bad the day would feel when a judge writes a letter insinuating I'm a liar like a sarcastic scathing ex-boyfriend. I didn't know how awful it feels to explain over and over to vocational counselors I just can't be on time and how complicated it is, it's not a bad habit, I stayed up too late feeling fucking paranoid and woke up so depressed getting the energy to get out of bed is a task I barely had the energy for. Then I get to work late and my boss is mad at me for making it there. But I still could blog, so I tried to seriously make a career of it and people were mad at me like some spoiled brat too. I don't feel motivated to do anything else, what do you want from me? My art school teachers seemed so disappointed, because I didn't have the energy to impress them like I did in my early 20s. Then I get accused of being lazy, well recovery takes time, I've nearly died from an illness multiple have a little understanding before you just judge me. No matter what you do it's a losing situation. If I didn't take meds (I'd die) they'd say, well take meds and see if you feel better. If you do, well your illness is being controlled by meds. but the meds have horrific side effects like the shaking hands when I was learning drawing or the new restless crawling in my skin feeling. I'm vulnerable too, so when I try to date my picker is all broken. So I meet these guys everyone else has the sense to avoid, but I find these snakes charming. So now I'm scared to death of meeting another snake, so I'm abstinent for as long as it takes to find someone as far along in recovery or maybe permenently. So I write to complain and complaining is all I do well, so some jealous person claims it as hers. As if life can't get any worse, I lost my freedom and independence. The housing for the poor is a lottery, so who knows if or when I'll ever be picked. So I'm applying for work, still sick and disabled, because I'm done being shamed and broke. Knowing full well the stress from work could kill me, but nobody gives a fuck about me. I can't just escape into a romantic relationship, because I know the only guys I attract are selfish takers who want to get 120% from our relationship. But I survived and I'm fine, I'm in treatment and this is better than the 30% of people with schizoaffective disorder who commit suicide. I have a roof over my head, which I guess is better than many people are doing. I have work experience, which is something some with this disorder don't have. It's an invisible illness, if anyone else had regular symptoms of illness every day for anything else they'd get real sympathy and understanding. But maybe it's me, because nobody cares about my stupid fibroids either. If someone stayed up late despite being on heavy sedatives and was late to work over it, someone would care. My family cares, I should be grateful for this. Nobody sees the struggle, they just see my strengths, get jealous, and the second I work they seem to want to destroy the competition. I feel judged regularly no matter how hard I try. Of course not everyone is a jerk to me, many people try to be encouraging and supportive. I'm just another person with an illness, we all get sick at some point in life and everyone reacts to us differently when this happens. We are all familiar with this. I just don't understand why anyone would pick a disabled person as a target to drag down further, when it's already hard enough. I started writing so much about stigma, because of him. His reactions were so extreme and terrifying, but I kept forgetting most people have more empathy than sociopaths. No amount of writing could ever make him understand and I realize this. There is no fact, no argument and only one therapy that he will likely never go through due to how arrogant & self-righteous the disease makes people. & I attack him for having an illness, knowing society sees us almost the same way, two people who need recovery. The only difference between us is how we approach recovery, I seek people with masters degrees or phds and those suffering from similar diseases. I'm still too sick to work long term, but I'm still going to try working. I really hate the idea of leeching off the government and even if I win the case, it's barely enough to survive on. There is something called last date insured, which at this point is in 2014. In 2014 I was still trying to work and go to school, which is seen as substantial gainful activity. I doubt being accommodated matters much. It's like nobody cares that I might die except me, but I don't know it could be fear and melodrama. It wasn't horrible working for the labs, I just had psychosis and depression often and it made a job I easily qualified for difficult. All I want is enough time to find the magic cure to my illness, but the truth it seems is there isn't one. All the stress management, DBT, CBT, medications, chakra balancing, exercise and recovery in the world won't cure it, it can only be treated and despite what that crack pot video floating around with "experts" says that is what my experience has shown me to be true. *sigh* My life is so hard. I'll say this and people still won't understand. No amount of writing seems to change this, what a waste of our time.
Is it me or is it a bitter ex-boyfriend?
Is it me or the psychosis again?
Is it me or people in poverty taking revenge upon "yuppies" which I'm so far from?
Is it me or very confused people talking shit?
Is it me writing this all along or do you seriously believe I could hack a schizoaffective's blog, take over her hobbies, her writing style, and live her life in so many details with a bad memory?

What kind of a fool are we all? I'm a fool for even feeding the trolls & continuing to care when it seems everyone has stopped listening. I guess thier plan worked in a way I didn't expect, get me talking so much about this BS I don't write entries and everyone loses interest. I did say I don't want fame, so I guess the joke is on them. *sigh*

blood donation

After putting it off for a year, I finally donated blood again. It's easier to forget now without being a college student, I don't see those donation vans as often these days. Ever other week it seemed those "vampires" were on campus getting life saving blood. After losing several people to suicide I wanted a way to save lives that was easier on my schizoaffective disorder. Since I've been sexually abstinent for over 2 years it was easy to answer no to all the questions, which was a relief. I guess most good people who donate blood don't obnoxiously advertise about it on the internet, they just do good things and let the action be the reward. Every blood type is needed, so if you can donate a common type it helps. I donated to bonfils. I'm not always such a selfless person, so it's nice to do something for someone else for a change. They told me each donation helps to save 1-3 lives.

it's illness for you

I guess mister is just another ill person who needs compassion.  I refuse to be part of his life ever again, but I feel bad about speaking ill of him here.  There is plenty of help if he only sought it, but I may never know if he seeks it.  I can only fix myself and that is a tremendous task in and of itself.  At this vulnerable place in life there are plenty of people aiming to take out the weak, help the needy, or seek solace in those with similar problems.  I don't understand why anyone would seek to make the life of a schizoffective harder, but people are evil & selfish sometimes.  I'm grateful people are there to help, even if I get upset with them.  I feel bad others are in similar situations, but I guess it leads to similar growth or spirit.  I thought maybe I could lead people to recovery and be a role model, but we're all equals here.  I have personal struggles, failings, and successes .  I  day people will see who the real key is if it matters, but really I just know it's important for my growth to keep blogging or journaling.  I see so many great writers struggling to get by, so I don't see it being a career.  If my story is something others can relate to and prevents any suffering, other than just feeding my self defacing ego, maybe it's all worth the paranoia and suffering it causes me. I miss the online friends I used to talk to, people change and find themselves identifying with new people, being this negative people never stay around forever.  I feel so helpless and confused when it comes to relationships, even though I dated one person for 10 years, it wasn't a happy 10 years, it was 10 years of clinging to someone who wanted to leave.  Looking back the biggest difference in society I've made is seeking recovery and helping myself, so I'm glad I keep going and keep on this recovery track no matter what the rumors are.  I hope everyone can afford to recover and live a happier life, especially those who have suffered so much their suffering has lead to suffering for myself and others.  

Still literally completely sexually abstinient for over 2 years now. I still read into every whistle, throat clearing, and attempt to get my attention as some stupid creep lying about my sexual activity. The more creepy men I encounter the less I ever want to date again, I've started accepting being single and abstinent for life. Anything is better than being toyed with by some creep for fun. I sometimes wonder if anyone is still interested, but I'm 34, schizoaffective, and overweight. I guess someone who sees beyond that wouldn't mind, I still have my ability to solve puzzles and rant like it's nothing. I noticed even the slightest mention of sex or sexuality, even clever little poems annoy me. I think about sex maybe once a week if that often. The mix of depression and psychosis pretty much nullifies all interest in such things. Too bad this society sexualizes my exact body type, it's like everyone is objectifying it and I'm not interested in return. Eh, well I guess that's a bit egotistical, I'm overweight so it's really not that many people who do. I sort of like being somewhere where being skinny is favored, because hardly anyone bothers me for such things. It was so different in the previous neighborhood, guys were so poor and so openly sexual with me, it was so creepy and bothersome. It makes sense now why we all go for the guy who seems uninterested or is really gay, because the guys who are very interested all seem creepy after a while. Sometimes it's nice to just converse with people of either gender as an equal without any sexual feelings, I get so uncomfortable around everyone else. I never thought I'd be like this, but I like it, it's very peaceful and I don't feel used.

I personally signed up for Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, it's not exactly for schizoaffective, but it doesn't hurt and it makes sure the root of the issue is not me. It would say not to dwell on the past, meaning not to rant about mister or Jay and to enjoy the guys who are interested in my mind and my friends.

I'm finally doing one of the three things I tell other people to do: exercise. I swim regularly now, which has been great. All I need to do it eat healthier and meditate, who knows when that will happen.

I'm completely sober now, well for over 2 years now. I regret mentioning being part of any anonymous groups, as it's a violation of tradition. I do not represent or endorse these groups, they are helpful, but promotion is in violation of tradition. I still play too many video games and eat too much sugar, but progress is good.

Career is a big question right now. I love writing and it's good enough people are faking being lost_the_key to claim it (The clue is I'm literally a white female), but it doesn't pay and there isn't enough fame to make it pay. I can sort of program & have IT experience, there is a demand for it, but it's tedious and I get anxiety sitting down to program. I have an art degree, but there is no demand for mediocore digital artists even if I love it. There is a demand for trained customer service people, but I get grumpy and have poor attendance. I'm trying to get disability, but I have an ex who may be trying to sabotage everything I do for his own ends. Even without such a monster trying to destroy me, getting social security is hard even with a real disorder. They want to say if you aren't on meds, you need to try meds. If you are on meds, then the meds take care of the issue and you should be working. So you try working and if it's too good of a job & you fail, they say try an easier job. Then you fail at an easy job and even if you get social security it's not enough money to live on and you are stuck not even being able to work an easy job, which is worse than working in my humble opinion. So either I missed something about my options or I need to try other options. I still don't understand why anyone wants to claim my blog, yeah it's over a decade of hard work, but it's worthless without new entries and you need the brain all the practice gave you in order for it to be worth while. I mean even if this fake wins, she or he can't keep writing the same entries the same way, because she just doesn't have the practice. Not that it's a great blog, many people could easily start a new blog and quickly have more followers if they play their cards right. It's just the part of using my username and mister that bothers me, earn your own fame or you are doing something without morals. Of course, bad people don't care about morals, they just are on survival mode. They try very hard to convince you they care about morals, but whenever a test comes they fail. Speaking of failing moral tests I need to go back to work.

facts from the most recent episode

A few months ago I went through reality testing with my therapist on the whole blog and neighbor situation. All I really knew was:

I had neighbors who I found creepy.
I have a couple exes.
I write this blog, which I hold in low esteem.

I think I said this before, but in case I didn't.


real fireworks

Hearing real fireworks makes me grateful I no longer hear gun shots interspersed between them using the fireworks as cover.

So much for that

I'm having trouble adjusting to journaling offline and learning from an editor. I wrote the last draft without even editing it and I never journaled it offline. Change past your twenties is tricky. I'll pay for it when the bad writing turns away readers or annoys friends. *sigh*

Happy fourth of July!

I woke up distressed, the fourth was once my anniversary celebration with Jay. The gym was closed, so coping with swimming wasn't an option. "Oh good you're up for the picnic." Oh right, the picnic, I have a social obligation today. "I don't really want to go to this mom...I'm introverted, I'd rather work..." I said. Mom sighs and says, "But I need you there..." I sighed, no swimming and I need to conserve energy for socializing. Plus the mental health center cancelled DBT and yoga due to the holiday. I stare at my bracelet, it's supposed to remind me to breathe, I take a deep breath. We go to the store and I get comfort food, some watermelon and sale toffee. If I'm not comfortable socializing, at least I'll have food I like. As we arrive I notice a pool on the right and people are there. It must be for kids and open swim, not laps. We get there and all these faces approach us smiling, people love my mom and it spills over to me. I hug someone I just met and get some food. Someone I met a few days ago talks to me for a while and seems to want to make friends with me and mom. I had so many conversations I lost track , but my dialogues with people sound just like my journals. Eventually I go to see if there is a lap lane, to my amazement there is and since I swim often the gear is in the car. I rush into the pool. The new friend brings me her number to keep in touch at the pool side. Mom comes with her friend we haven't seen in three months, they sit by the side watching me. Someone joins my lane and after I lap her a couple times she says I should join masters, a swim club for adults. "Oh I don't know if I'm good enough." I say nervously. "The better swimmers will inspire you to swim better and won't judge you" she says. It's at 9am and yet again it's a group. We leave the pool. Arc has a 50% off sale, so I go to hunt for antiques to sell on Ebay. Nothing I buy is ever worth what I think it is, we all hold onto this junk thinking it's worth something or that it impresses someone and yet it doesn't. I feel like a slave to these things and start wishing my hobbies made money, but with money comes competition. With competition comes the exact situation I ran away from, someone claiming to write my blog to get fame or credit. With competition comes needing to constantly outdo yourself and the feeling of failure when you don't, so humbly finding a low paying job seems better than trying to be the best. When you love what you do everyone else wants to do it too, because they want to do what they love instead of burning in the hot sun being a farmer or being a waitress. Even if you get to do it for a short while, someone does better and takes your place. Art is a tough job, very few of us make it. I don't practice enough to make it. I am not trained in poetry, so I'm not going anywhere with my writing either. It appears if I did make money as a blog writer, there are savages waiting in the wings to take the blog from me and make the money instead. I don't know for real what anyone did, this paranoia is terrible. The paranoia tells me someone is telling someone else that I killed someone for my own laptop. It's absurd, my brain is evil and makes no sense. I'm in the pool enjoying the sun and I start thinking about suicide, this is the highlight of my day, fuck you brain and your evil ideas. Am I still this distressed? My life is easy. The cashier at Arc was an intelligent person who is fluent in Japanese. She tells me she was in IT too. Is this what happens to women in IT? She spies my yin yang earrings and talks to be about the balance in life. "The balance between good and evil." she says. "The balance of opposites." I say trying to be Alan Watts. Is the white the good or the black? Do we simply need a balance of both? How do we really know we are good people? Does the villian see himself or herself as the hero? Does the hero not see he might be evil? So we follow our values and take care of our health, striving to be our highest selves. Was the self I'm running away from and fixing such a bad self? I measure it in hurtful to others, this self is less hurtful to others and happier. My online friend isn't online as much and is worried I'm mad at her. I worked in a computer lab I know computers break down and I'm not upset. It's strange here without her, but that is how friendships are. Interests change, people spend time differently, but I won't be alone. I'll simply miss her. I enjoy talking with her, but people have lives outside of blogging. I'm not the most attentive friend, so people drift out of my life often. We see each other years later and suddenly that connection is right back where it was. The only exception is those who burn bridges, then the anger just simmers and I feel upset at the slightest reminder those people existed. mister/Jay junkCollapse ) Now I'm watching poetry, it's humbling, I'm just some crazy blogger and these guys are using metaphors and iambic pentameter. But I'm still writing, even if it's negativity about exes. I wanted to change them and make them better so badly, but at the end of the day the only person I can change is me. I never really liked the idea of polyamorary, I'm introverted and struggle to keep one relationship going. Now I'm abstinient and alone, I feel more loved and less hurt than I did in a relationship where poly was being considered by my partner. I'm happier alone and the way my past relationships went, I imagine my would be partner is happier too. I suppose this shouldn't be public, but oh well. One day I'll learn to forgive mister just like I forgave Jay. It's really to free myself from the pain more than anything else. I found an old background there is a quote and it says, "...Know that fear and loss is a trick, temporary illusions fed by the ego." The one under it says, "So there you are. You're just a walking piece of matter that's pretending to be someone. But in reality, things like matter, or self, of the universe, or time, or dimensions are all illusions." I was lazy in finding the author, but they have authors. No seeing fireworks tonight, but poetry shines brighter tonight. Seeing Anne Waldman was better than some firework shows, even with my camera set up.

He said he's a sociopath & I believed him

"You're lucky, you could have gotten the other guy." He says about the man passed out on the couch with his mohawk slumped over. "Yeah." I respond. I start thinking to myself, "What just happened? Why did I go to a punk show by myself, even my real punk friends have more sense than this, I'm a blogger from Boulder not a punk.
His room mate interrupts, "You can't live here anymore, this is the last straw." Still dressed in her waitress outfit from last night. "Good night sweetie." he says to her with great respect as he slaps me on the ass like some dumb whore, I've really fucked up this time, this trashy guy doesn't even respect me. "What happened to the girl I met last night?" I say nothing, Oh the girl who had a drink and you took advantage of, because it was raining and she has no car. Well I appreciate the ride home, now your room mate is kicking you out and I hate myself for what you've done to me. This should have been a warning to get away from this guy, he has no respect for me or his room mate. I seem to think all this quickly in between the pause, "I've been homeless before, I can handle it." My heart sinks, this poor guy, now all I can think later is he conned me into sleeping with him and then he got a cheap place to stay. Karma for helping this guy is now years later he is destroying my character, because he thinks I'm trying to destroy his. His actions destroyed his character, I only spoke of them. "We can at least wash the sheets." I say, so we go to the laundromat. We meet an old man with little skulls on his shirt, it's mr.K when he is older I swear it. What am I doing? A few hours pass and I'm finally free. I feel bad for the guy, so I give him my number. I was part of the reason he lost "his roof". I walk into Brooklyn's, "I had my first one night stand." It was the last time I ever talked to Anna before unfriending her on Facebook. She looks surprised and isn't sure how to react. Then the phone rings, it's him full charm. We meet up again, I can't stop laughing, he says these things so quickly and impeccably, but I never seem to remember them. The smart assed statements seemed clever the first 200 times he said them. He starts to sing, "Oh lord won't you buy me a mercedes benz…" I'm not quite right, but this guy is really not right. If he was here he'd say, "Oh gee really." dripping with sarcasm. "I love you." he says to his friend. "Are you really saying that in front of her?" she says. "Oh she understands." he says. I want to cry, smack him and run away, I started so many fights over this. Guys stop respecting you once they have you, even if he is one of 4 he doesn't care, he treats you like an object not a human. I'm lonely, Jay is gone, fine whatever, it's better than being alone I guess. Why doesn't this guy look like a punk? His hair is blond, he wears a plain white t-shirt and jeans. "The real punks all dress like this." I look over his albums, I have no idea who these artists are. "This is real Virginia hardcore." So I let this now homeless punk kid who says he is my age, which I find out later he was born in 1986 not 1982, move in. It seems like a good deed, but I learned later some good deeds have negative consequences. The first is him tormenting my poor little cat until we finally took the poor thing to a public park to be free from it. I should have picked the cat, but I'm human and I picked the hot human. Loneliness does crazy things to you. He frowns for a moment from his perm stoned grin, "How can I make you happy?" he says nearly every day. Well, you make yourself happy with temporary things like concerts, pot and using people for sex so you really don't even know how to make yourself happy. I block this thought out, "I dunno." I say like a disrespected ditz who lets someone like this use her. It only went downhill from there. We had a few good hikes, it was the one time in a long time I felt okay again, the depression was getting worse and every thought was a negative thought. It's hard to be happy when you are being disrespected daily and hear your boyfriend loves everyone else, but thinks of you as some dumb whore he met at a punk show. Maybe it will change was the start of 4 or 5 years of misery. "We're not dating, we're just friends." he says. I didn't earn being his girlfriend?! "I like you, but I don't love you." he says. "I'm a sociopath." he says. These things haunt my mind, I'm with some sociopath who doesn't love me?! Is he a sociopath? I pick up a popular book on sociopathy The Psychopath Test. I read it and get the shivers, it fits him a little too well. I go through the Hare Criteria and he qualifies. So I go to group and share this with a rich guy who has a crush on me, "Get rid of this guy! Trade up." Great, but I don't want a republican, otherwise you're an amazing friend. I tell my psychiatrist how angry and depressed I feel around this mr.K guy, "I'm going to tell you something and it's not going to be easy. I know you love this guy and you don't want to leave him, but you have to." she says in the most caring way. Why would this lady risk her job to tell me this? I shouldn't be with a sociopath, I saw what a real psychopath did to my mom. I debate whether or not he is a sociopath and continue to, but even doctors and psychologists get it wrong how can I KNOW. But if there even is a chance he might be one, geez that is a tough risk to take even to stave off loneliness. Sociopath is a label poor bipolar men get, so do borderline men. Maybe he is misdiagnosed. Either way until he gets into recovery he is causing me to suffer, so maybe if I leave it will motivate him. But I lie, "I have to leave you, you don't make enough money." What a shallow little lie, but how do you tell someone you can't risk dating a sociopath when he is hurting you? Oh but know suddenly friends are disappearing and I can't help but wonder if he is connected, he is trying to cut off my connections by slandering me to my old friends. I breathe in and sigh, it's just a hunch, I don't know, but something is strange. I overhear something about prostitutes and the last time I saw him it seemed like he was talking to gay male clients. I can't even tell mr.K's parents back in VA, they'll end up in NAR-anon feeling helpless and worrying about him. He is choosing not to be in recovery and he is suffering so much due to this I'm suffering. I'm more mad he isn't in recovery than what he is trying to do to my reputation. My words are failing me and I'm judging him, instead of showing his character. I'm supposed to describe how he smokes his cigarettes, how he speaks, and how he walks so you can infer his character. I was taught to write better than this. I remember one of the last things Jay said to me, "I could have treated you worse." I was annoyed by this, well you could have treated me better too. But how mr.K treated me is exactly what Jay meant, he could have paid less for rent, he could have bad mouthed me with lies years after we broke up, he could have never said I love you….how it must feel to be less respectful and kind than Jay, to be compared to Jay as the guy who did what Jay wouldn't ever do. Because Jay was an innocent guy who made a few mistakes in comparison, he still said, "I love you." every day. He still listened to me rambling and tried to talk philosophy with me. He saw me as a friend to the point we had to stop dating, we were too good of friends. I compare them as if one is better than the other, but characters are all a mix of good and bad, all aspects considered they are about equal as I am equally bad as them. Mr.K was a great chef, I couldn't even describe his food adequately. He was made to please a simple minded sensing woman, not some brooding moody artist. He didn't love me, he liked my body and say the value of it, but he saw and appreciated nothing else. It hurt so bad I take it out in misandry towards many men, even the gentle sorts of men I relate to as friends who show me a level of respect far above what our culture expects. The last time I felt anything positive towards him he was still playing me, he was "visiting" from VA just like he had "moved out of state." as he told his fiance who "conned him for $25,000." Perpetual victimhood, blaming everyone else, these are characteristics psychologists teach people to move away from. As he left that last time he mattered, he reached out his hands and almost said "I love you." but he just couldn't. Flowers were easy for him to buy, spending time was easy at some point, even training me for his purposes was easy. He said something on that visit that puzzled me, "You're a professional." I never want to be referred to as a professional when it comes to sex, I'm made to write and stave off loneliness, but never that. He'd walk on the wrong side of me and pretend it's a joke, but it wasn't. I realized the dominating emotion around him was anger and sadness. He never talked to me enough and I felt sad & neglected. I spoke to my psychologist about it. "This guy is doing the least amount of work he has to do to keep you hanging on, the second he sees you pulling away he gives you a chip." She moves her hands and drops an imaginary chip. "Such language," She says as she goes "Auck!"

Why does this guy deserve so much of my writing attention? I don't know. I think better people deserve it more, like my loving family, but my brain just wants to figure out how to avoid men like this. Maybe after years in recovery I can relate to him again, after some dialectical behavioral therapy and after he gets some real clean time. But still no matter what the first impression sticks with us, he'll never respect me or love me, despite what therapy he gets. A normal, recovered, mentally healthy guy couldn't respect me after all that. It's over, I have to accept it, he has to accept it. We have to stop talking and writing about each other and move on. I know this, but I'm stuck in the past. I'll never truly know if he is a sociopath or if it's severe, or if it's mania. He never slept much and never stole anything other than maybe my missing blue belt and blue belt certificate. I know he doesn't respect me, because of my actions so many years ago and I know nobody will understand why I acted that way, and that is all I need to know. Moral of the story: take the time to get to really know someone, mom and dad tell you this kind of advice for good reasons. At the same time , there was a deep message to the amount of times he listened to "The Pursuit of Happiness" and how deeply unhappy he truly was and may be. Just some flawed type 7w8 on a spiritual journey, he'll figure it out when the time is right. I'm sure my rants about him don't help, but that's what exes do sometimes.



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