Idiotic

I'm an idiot.

It's as simple as that. What else would you call someone who believes a lie repeated a hundred times? It's stupid, foolish, moronic, along with a bunch of other words found in a thesaurus. So why? Why believe the lie?

Because I want to. I want to believe in happy endings, redemption stories, of my own legend where I save the day. I listen to the lies because I need them, because I don't want to see what ultimately happens when I let them go. I know that everything will fall apart. I realize I'm that flimsy glue, holding their whole goddamned world together. So I take the vitriol, the abuse, the "baby, why you gotta make me hurt you" sort of relationship that exists with my family.

I'm stuck between weeping and screaming, and probably could manage a good mixture of the two. But instead I'm right here, writing. Maybe it's because I think this will save me. Somehow that I'll be transported to a world where I'm famous, and if not rich, at least relevant. Where I can escape the bad times that I bring on myself. Where I won't need people that ultimately hurt me.

A future where I've smartened up.

Even an idiot can dream.