An excerpt from a future work I’m code-naming Jet.

I was told today I can be “brutally honest” (it’s true.) Indeed, I find brutal to be necessary when addressing you, but yet it doesn’t sink in, at all. Why I bother, I don’t know. When reality is completely optional, I suppose honesty, the truth, is something that you can flat-out deny, something to live without. My opinions are not only ignored, they’re discouraged. Clearly reality is in the eye of the beholder….

You argued like a child would, caps-locked to boot. In hindsight, it was like reading a particularly whiny TAFL Senior Staff contact form. I wish I had been; easier to laugh off, that way. But no. It was you. YOU, of all people. Would I have said the things I said to your face? Probably not, but only because I doubt you’d have done me the courtesy of staying in the room long enough for me to finish. And you, would YOU have said what you said to me this morning, to my face? Would you have the nerve? The gall?

If you had any self esteem at all, you wouldn’t need to act so paranoid about everything, so suspicious. You have a persecution complex a mile long, and YOU accuse ME of the same! How do you dare to do so? The nerve! The GALL.

Still, I love you. I suppose I always will, no matter what you think, or invent, or convince yourself of (despite profound lack of evidence.) You give me a migraine, you boggle my mind, you reduce me to ashes… you ruined my entire day. You make me extremely tired. I won’t make this mistake again, be assured of that; but neither will I follow his suggestion and bow down, give in.

You’re just going to have to learn that you can’t manipulate me anymore. I’m sick to death of it, and I’m sick of the false relationships I’m bound to, the one-sided-ness of it all. Bluster all you want; everyone around you sees the truth. Your friends and relatives, all around you, see you for what you really are. They all know how it really was and is.