I used to be Atlas, wouldn't you know it?
To the chagrin of those who hold a vested interest in my self improvement and growth, I'm gonna write about it again. Dwelling on these people is a little embarrassing, but it is oh so fun. I fucked around and made my own soap opera. And by some force of immense loathing and tragedy, I got to be a character in this bullshit.
I guess in a year of new-found strength and victories, my most poignant failure always seems to stick out in my head. I might be the only person alive who is actually looking forward to hearing my therapist tell me all the ways I suck ass. I need to hear it, because Jean Michel won't tell me. And I know if she gave a shit, she'd really let me have it. She'll never tell me anything, ain't that a laugh. We aren't close enough to make that necessary, wouldn't you know it.
I dunno...
I don't think she gets it. Timing is everything. Time and place. It was the wrong time and place.
And the framing, yknow. I came to the precipice of sending that text with the feeling that this needs to end the lie. However that pans out, it needs to end.
Maybe this was a situation where a little white lie would have been better in the long run. But I'm not that type of bitch.
Maybe she doesn't get it, maybe she does. Either way, she misjudged me.
I was doing good on the whole not thinking about it thing, but then I noticed Griffith looking at my insta. This is why I need to get off social media. It pissed me off.
I don't understand the kind of person who would look at somebody's social media activity, intently, and also ignore that person's text messages, intently.
He's always been like that, y'know. A serial flake, a grade A lurker, and a fairweather friend. Oh go ahead, say what you want about me, but you know it's true. I said some angsty shit on my story about how choosing the risky thing will inevitably poison the well. I feel like it's hard to appreciate the good things about a person when something bad sticks out. And yet in spite of it all I know my colors. I came out of it being a little embarrassed and unstable, and not on stable footing, but I didn't come out of it a coward. I didn't come out of it vengeful or deceitful. They can call me a lot of things, but a liar ain't one of them. I laid out everything as bare as I possibly could. There really shouldn't be any questions, but there also should be, inevitably. I kind of hope there will be.
That's the weirdest part of it. Despite feeling freed from the burden of that secret, the core feelings never seem to pass. I would have loved to take her on a date sometime. Oh, pish posh, who gives a shit?
I think part of me theorizes that she doesn't hate me. She isn't a bad person, and she's not an asshole. Not that she would be if she did want to see me drawn and quartered, don't you know. My take is that her actions mean... she admires my work, and my persona, but she doesn't like me on a personal level. Not enough to feel that I deserve to be graced with any sort of conversation. Which is a little cheap, idk. I'm very new to the idea of being intimidating. I might discover a new fleck in my copper: I kind of like the idea of being too hard to pin down. After all, I'm not just anybody. I'm a narcissist. The only kind of person who would write on a personal blog in 2025, yknow.
It has motivated me to pursue all my ideas. Even the scary ones. Even the sexy ones (lmao). I've discovered a penchant for transgressiveness, y'know. I am not a people pleaser.
I guess I do still feel that weight falling off my shoulders, but I also keep a piece of the mountains on my finger, like a ring. In my hair is saturated with oils from deep underground. In my eyes are the fires of Vesuvius. And in my heart, you can hear the waves.
I used to be Atlas, wouldn't you know it?
Parasociality is such a bizarre thing, because the sympathetic subject continues to look at everything I post, too. And these aren't influencers or celebrities on the other side of the screen. I knew these people for a good few years. It would be so easy to just unfollow me, but no, I keep convincing myself I'm bad for posting aesthetic music posts on my story and putting up my blog links. Whatever.
I look crazy for thinking I at least deserve an answer. Maybe I am crazy, but that's not new. She wouldn't have a vested interest (there it is again) in my activity if she didn't recognize this about me.
She would never say it out loud, of course she wouldn't. I wouldn't in her shoes. But she knows that I know... I influenced her. And I would never regret it. That's what I could only hope for, and for what other reason could it be than the fact that I'm a Black creative!
Oh, let me be crass for a minute. It literally falls out my lips when I talk, it radiates from everything I do. There is not a single other person on the planet who is like me.
Many have tried. All fall short. And yet... she really is the coolest, isn't she?
(MC HAMMER REFERENCE INCOMING)
I think that's it. Yeah. MC Hammer put it best.
Too le-git!
Too legit to quit! (Hey, hey!)
This is the last MC Hammer reference I will be making on this blog.
I guess that's what Deanna wanted me to know. I cut Jean Michel a lot of slack, but yeah, they had a habit of ignoring my texts beforehand anyways. Before all of this, casually. I remember when I was stranded up there and my car needed a jump. I made the mistake of thinking just bc she was a friend who lived up there, I should ask her for help. What a fool I was. I had to call my parents who lived an hour and a half away to get help. And the thing is that wasn't really her fault or anything but like damn broðŸ˜ðŸ˜ðŸ˜ðŸ˜
Deanna's theory is that she told Griffith. That would be really something. With respect, I'll never tell what I know. I will merely say... what a character she could be, if she would posture superiority with a fall such as that. I don't believe she would sink that low. I wouldn't have became so hopelessly infatuated with her if I could see a capacity for personal espionage in the scales of her character. That twinkle is very familiar to me, y'know... I saw it in him, first! That's why I asked her what he was doing. And that's how I learned to keep secrets.
I don't think she reads these anymore, but if she does, let me clarify for you, gorgeous. My lips are sealed. Whatever beef we have, or bond we have, is immaterial to the interests of maintaining personal integrities.
That being said, the fuck is he gonna do? Limp his way into a fade? Pardon the casual ableism, but come on. If he actually had hands, I'd have seen that by now. Let's see what those imported cigarettes can inspire within you, old friend. You know I'm a proletarian, so I won't be hopping on a flight just to kick your teeth in. Try something new and come to me for once. If you really want to be outside, make the effort. You fucking man-whore.
And make sure you eat something first. I'm not an ableist, I'm not gonna smack an anemic nigga with no calories in his system. Eat some Halal first. If you need a location, I'd reccomend fighting outside the Joe Louis Arena parking structures. That'd be perfect.
Here are the stakes. If you win the fight, you get to cut off my left ring finger. You can slip on that ring I gave you back in March. You know the one. In addition... you get three wishes. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. Just not in public, don't be a weirdo.
If I win... I get to ask you ten questions. And you are required to answer honestly, on the spot. No matter how upset you might feel. You will have to answer the questions with as much sincerity as you can muster.
After that, we can part ways. Or if you win, we can do whatever you feel like.
This might be the funniest part of the psychosis. I don't trust him, and I don't respect him. But part of me still loves the guy, isn't that terrible? And since he doesn't want to use his words, maybe I'll just sock him right in teeth to stimulate some noises, hehehe. If he was smart, he'd just ignore it. But no... you're the type to let it linger, you rake. I see you.
She knows as well as I do. Despite my clear moral superiorities over him (lmao), we have some undeniable similarities. The similarity being that we're both koo-koo for cocoa puffs. How else would we have become friends in the first place?
God, I wish I could kick his shit in so bad. And then I'd give him a kiss on the forehead. He's still my little guy, as much as I detest him.
I'll see you guys soon. And Griffith... you card... you have till the end of the year to come out the closet or else I'm telling everybody you're DL. Because you are, bitch. Come fight me about it♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡.
Pic unrelated.
