I had a few further revelations about a topic I recently spoke about in a post.
Unless you've been living under a rock or camping out in a tree (see Hunger Games, a truly amazing read that I just started and finished), you know that I've had a few "vultures" in my life recently...popping in and out of my life almost simultaneously, quietly circling, waiting to feed off their prey. Seems a bit morbid, I know, especially since in this particularly ghastly analogy I've conjured up, I am essentially dead meat. However, I think it's a fairly accurate one in that I often feel unable to control the outcome of these relationships (much like an unwilling target in this game of cat and mouse), but desire nothing more than to do so.
The real problem wherein lies in the truth, as it virtually always does. I know that I continue to feed these predators that which they feed upon the most - weakness. Instead of blood or physical sustenance, I feed them with acknowledgement and response. I have ultimately become that which I supremely hate - an enabler. By simply allowing these men to continue their games, I no longer value myself as the smart, independent, deserving woman that I know I am. My idealistic notions of emergent friendships or at least affable connections are naive and foolish at best.
In an attempt to make one of these relationships logically sound, I am particularly befuddled at his inconsistent communication, our numerous bizarre conversations, and his almost bipolar attitude with me at times. But then again...you can't rationalize stupid or explain crazy. A lesson I just can't ever seem to learn.
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