The Ring

I am forlorn, deeply so. I hate that I judge other people on what they do and do not deserve, secretly cursing their excitement all because I don't have it for myself. It makes me feel like a bad person. Jealousy has never been a welcomed feeling in my cosmos. This week has been a let down in many ways. I'm trying to conjure up the happiness of getting a nearly free pair of shoes from Banana (though they are killing my feet) and finding an extra $25 bucks from being way too organized, but monetary gain is dulling, and reflection isn't my strong suit. I should be, no, I need to be capable of happiness for others. I think my emotive self was never properly nutured as a child, and as a result, may not exist. Let's face it. I'm not your bubbly personality girl. Neglected nuturing is really a cop-out. I have probably always lacked empathy, or maybe it was eroded with all my feelings one punch at a time. I kind of left the ring black and blue. One more punch doesn't mean much to an experienced fighter. You get used to it. You keep your muscles flexed, and you cower closer to the ground. You watch your back a little more. When you finally catch another hook, you realize you've felt it before, and the stun has been dulled. I feel like I'm sitting on my ass in the corner of the ring. I'm jealous of those who eagerly want to be in the ring fighting. They end up leaving without one glove colliding into their body, and then they murmur about and scrutinize the game, leaving me envious and full of disdain. You see why I have problems with empathy.