Over-reaction = Meltdown

At school, I did my best to avoid any sort of bullying. I felt sick to my stomach each time I was belittled. I dreaded people talking about me behind my back, sometimes even catching people talking about me without them knowing I was within audible distance.

Kids. Evil things. I resorted to ignoring, or playing aloof. I was a fool. I still am a fool.

I have a big problem with not knowing my enemy, my foe must have a face and name. So it can be personal.

Anyway, I got a rude, spoofed SMS the other day. Something very personal. Something that attacked me. And I didn't know who sent it.

I had a hint of who it could have been, but I needed proof before laying baseless accusations and upsetting someone else. So I phoned MTN's customer services to find out if they could trace the SMS.

Turns out they don't have the means to do such things. Plan B: Survey suspicions - Jackpot! What was intended as a practical joke was now blown horribly out of proportions. I was livid.

What really irked me was finding out who delivered the message. Someone I know and trust and don't expect such things from. Someone who in my mind has always been fair and humble.

It puts a lot of things into perspective for me. Nasty things too.

I know a supposed-porn star!

I can rest well, knowing that I once met a supposed real-life porn star. Someone who's family I know too.

My mom and her dad got on real well, he was a bit of a selfish tool, but he was good for my mom. He was one of those supposed parents that thought distraction and money are good ways of getting your kids out of your hair.

Staind - Open your eyes

[...]
A boy just 13 on the corner for sale
Swallows his pride for another hit
Overpopulation there's no room in jail
But most of you don't give a shit
That your daughters are porno stars
and Your sons sell death to kids
You're so lost in your little worlds
Your little worlds you'll never fix
[...]

Anyway, this "porn star" chick now lives in the same complex as me. She's a real poppie too. No emotion. No morals. Just a shagging-for-a-living-shit-for-brains-sheep. She is filth, and she's not even hot.

"What do you do Ms. Angel Jugs?" Enquired the reporter.

"I am a masseur." said the make-up over-indulged bimbo.

"Oh, that's lovely. What do you charge your clients?" The reported smirked.

"Normal massage: fifty rond. Happy ending: one hundred and fifty rond." she replied in her hollow virgin way.

Jealousy. But Why?

I'm jealous, because you promise me things, that you now give to someone else.

I'm cross, beacuse you need to hide things from me, and others.

You are that filth, you don't know love, because you confuse it with lust. You spread your sickness like your legs, the men love it. I loved it once. I feel dirty.

I would cleanse myself if it would help you, but you're too ignorant for that. Go and be what you want to be, but don't preach about the right when you only do wrong and all his brothers.