The Letter

Withstand or Misunderstand: The Passionate Pessimist

You want to insult me and call me ‘Debbie Downer’ and that’s fine. Frankly, I will no longer own up to this title and will relinquish all rights to it. The short and sweet version of this, I’m fucking tired of hearing it. Long hail the days and times of insulting Michelle! Forever shall it live and linger on the tongues of many. I am quite sure that no matter what I say or how I say it-there will be new insults to hurl, wounds to salt, self-esteem to lower and permanent scars to be made. The measure of my worth or friendship becomes buried under a deep-rooted tree of cynicism the minute I say, “No” or “Sorry, I can’t”. This is starting to feel like I’m explaining myself and to a total stranger. Wait, I’m tired of explaining myself. So, from this day forward whether my actions are noble or asinine, shall be just that...noble or asinine. No explanation, maybe a shoulder shrugs here and there. I do like to gesture and use my hands when I speak. That old version of Mimi; the one who will be first to give her last, to drop whatever it is she’s doing to run by your side if you need her, stretching herself far beyond her limits, for you, to protect you because she can’t stand to see anything or anyone hurt, to give her full attention 110%, to make you smile, make you laugh, to hold your hand, your hair, your heart and your head. The “Debbie Downer” or the Pessimist you can always call on in your darkest of time, and in those dark hours it’s the passion of this chosen pessimist you call on for words of encouragement. Shine a little light for ya from that Cajon, blackened soul, yes? Loyalty spewing from every pore like a fucking dog (“like a dog” remember this phrase because it will be brought up again later)-eh, it’ll still be there (from now on it may be suppressed like a battered woman’s self-esteem). Hard to actually give that part of you up, just throw it away, because it’s just who I am, it’s actually my one and only most (perfect) characteristic that never falters. Unwavering like a stripper on a pole with daddy issues, it’s been taunted and teased and tested frequently but I value that part of myself still. It’s unfair to be chastised to that extreme but people are selfish. I use ‘selfish’ in the meaning that they don’t see actions (or lack thereof) and words having a painful consequence. Don’t take this rant in me claiming to be a saint, I will never be a saint and in my loyalty maybe I’ve hurt others. My heart is always in the right place, the ideas are always there too, unless I flat out hate you. Hate brings on a different type of rant that’s inappropriate for this one. Nonetheless, it hurts to feel abandoned and sometimes discarded whenever a shinny new toy appears. (And now I bring back the whole, “loyal like a dog” phrase) But because I’m so bound and gagged by my loyalty, you know that if and when you’re finally running back to me-I embrace you with open arms. Like a puppy-this will be a bad example but it’s a must to solidify my statement-you can beat the hell out of a puppy, turn around and give it one false hope that you still love it and the damn thing stays by your side, amazing how that works, even more amazing that I just compared myself to an abused puppy. The days do pass and that poor little puppy will soon be a full grown pit bull, equipped with large teeth and the ability to lock its’ jaw on your ass…moral here: Stop kicking shit that just wants to be loved. I digress. When I’m gone, you’ll remember what I’ve done, so I never have to remind you again. You’ll miss me, all of me-the good times and the bad times, I’m not perfect (like I said). This is me, my good will always out weigh the bad, sometimes you forget, when I disappear-and then maybe you will remember.