I have had to swallow my pride, eat my words, and restrict my fingers from telling those who hurt me to fuck off. This year has taught me how ironic life can be. You can provide another with a new beginning, a home to come to, feed them night-after-night from your own pocket, and never ask for a dime in return, help them find security, yet still be painted as an unsympathetic human being.
When life goes right for you and wrong for them, all true colors show. They hate to see you doing better than them.
Insecure people always run to what they feel is “safe”.
I am not the type of person to run to what is safe. I am the type of person that runs to my inner-self when feeling unsafe. Insecure fingers only point at those they once idolized.
The moment the giver focuses on their own direction and cannot point the compass for the insecure, they are lost. Crying. Pointing.