The Golden Ticket

I’ve always been able to sense things. And I’ve known about my ability. But now, I’m perfecting and flaunting it.

Being an empath and having intuition, I can read certain people and I can sense certain things. Some even come to me to see what my gut says about something or a certain person, a lover, perhaps. Sometimes I’m correct and sometimes I’m not.

I’ll never forget about my Daddy asking me when I was younger, “Do you think he’s going to win this election?” I said, “No.” And I was right. It was a feeling not a thought.

I’d like to reflect on a certain object(s).

On the bridge where I’ve always had the feeling something bad would happen to me, where I could die actually, I threw the certain object into the still water. And in that water, my love for them died.

I picked the silver, heavy, and hollow object up, listened to its inevitable sound, felt the leather string attachment that connected one to the other one last time, I kissed it, left my lipstick print, and tossed it into the still water with my left hand with no ring attached and I said goodbye for the thousandth time.

The Golden Ticket, that went along with it, I ripped up, piece by piece, and tossed it in the Kroger gas station trash along with their rotten intentions for me. You can always tape torn and broken pieces together, but the scar is always there. This tape is worn out.

A gift so thoughtful. But unappreciated. A love too unconditional, also unappreciated.

I remember laying down, in that state where you’re almost asleep, but you’re not yet, and they woke me up.

I acted surprised, it almost startled me. They were sitting down, leaned over me, like they had been watching me sleep, and told me, “I just want you to know I love you in every way possible.”

Do I believe they loved me? Yes.

Do I believe their actions showed me I wasn’t enough for them? Yes.

Do I believe I wasn’t enough? Hell no.

That same time, they begged me to partake in traditions. And I did. We saw the lights in our hometown. I made them old popcorn. We watched their favorite movie. They promised something that, to me, was extra special for us next winter. There never was an us. There was just a me. And my daydreams and hopes of our “future.” Their heart was too cold and the fur on my winter coat was worn off. I was done, I couldn’t take it anymore. At that point, they knew more than just what they were doing.

False promises. False hope was their specialty, their house dressing. With deceit on the side.

That bell rang one last time. And I finally didn’t hear it.

I was always given the short end of the stick. Hell, I didn’t even see the stick.

The only time I really felt secure was when I was with them in person, but really, I never truly felt secure.

The bell sank to the bottom, now buried under all of that water, of their own actions, never to surface again.

I don’t even remember who they are anymore.

I didn’t quite realize how much effect they had on my self esteem, how much effect they had on me period.

So foreign is trust, true respect, love, and admiration of me to me now.

In the deep water, this object remains, never to be heard again. Like the love of a lover, the attachment always there, the love always slight. But the choice, the want, the desire that once was on fire, never again. The Bible says, forgive seventy times seven. And I do forgive them. And I did forgive them. But I’ll never forget. Even if I wanted to, my scars wouldn’t let me.

It’s time for someone else to love me now.

I don’t look at them the same anymore. I see ugly and not beauty like I once only really saw. I see their intent instead of the not even bare minimum given to me. I see a poor girl, excited to be apart of their world, excited to even be noticed by them, a girl destroyed. I see myself not even being treated like a human let alone a person with a heart, a widowed heart, at that.

They can find someone else to tango with, because, it sure as hell ain’t me. And I sure as hell ain’t tango-ing by myself anymore. It’s time someone else learns their language.

I thought they wanted a happy ending. A real relationship.

I thought they wanted true and unconditional love. I gave them that.

They should’ve wanted different, and better.

They should’ve wanted a challenge.

I want to take this time and opportunity to thank them for destroying me because the girl that loved them need to change. That girl allowed disrespect, half ass efforts, half ass “love,” zero communication, emotional abuse, absolutely no attention, and she allowed and acceptance much less than what she deserved.

I also want to thank them for their bullshit. Without their bullshit and true colors, I wouldn’t have found what I have now.

And to the girl, me, who thinks to herself time to time, “Why do I always have to suffer? What’s the point?” It will get better. It cannot rain forever. Isn’t that what the rainbow is for in the first place? Hope? God’s promise?

My therapist told me yesterday that if we’re enough for God, then we are enough for someone else. Damn.

To the person who knew I put a scar on my wrist and didn’t show the slightest ounce of concern, how dare you?

So, thank you for the self esteem check. Never again. Because I know you’re reading this. Because you’re curious. But, rest assured, The Golden Ticket to get on the Anna train, no longer entertains an invitation with your name stamped on it.

Xoxo -

The one who finally got away