The Return

I've been here before.

It was April 15, 2010. The trigger was pulled, the bullet fired.
And rather than let it kill me, I ran with it.

Is that wrong?
Is it better to be a victim?
Poor me. I was wronged.
Wronged by fat.
Wronged by my own lifestyle.
Then finally wronged by the man I love.

"You're too fat. I want a trophy. It's like I don't even know you."
Paraphrasing, but you get the idea.

Be a victim? That's not me.
If anyone is going to cut me, it'll be me.
I'll stop being my own worst enemy when I find a more worthy opponent.

So I rang out as loud as the shot. And it worked for a while.
But then I backslid into the comfort puddle of my insipid happiness.

Happiness? Unacceptable.

Happiness and contentment is something for the dead and dying.
Something to pass the time, apparently.

I like happiness, but I'm not allowed to have it.
I like myself, but I'll never be left alone in that contentment.
I'm going to have to fight for it.
My surroundings have deemed me undeserving of my self esteem and contentment.

The shot has been fired again. Four years later.
This time I finish the job.

If you can run ahead of the bullet,
nearly as fast as the bullet,
even if it does hit you,
it doesn't hurt as much.

I love you. Be strong.

<3,

AnnaStellA Bella
A Second Coming
Formerly Proanabanana