Some people are so hateful, so vindictive.  So sick, honestly.

What can you do, about this narcissistic serpent?  Nothing.

They are too far gone.

Absolute poison.  Stay away from them.  And no, this is no vent.  This is a deeply intimate sharing of experience with the devil.

There’s always fault, with you.  They however, geniuses.  Teaching…. Oh yes, teaching everyone the right way to live.  They speak to everyone around them, even their own counsel, like they’re children.

Funny how that works.

They rewrite reality in “real time”, and they even brag about it, like some quiet theater of distortion, where you’re cast as the problem before you’ve even opened your mouth. You begin to question your own memory, your own tone, your own intent. 

That’s the trick.  Not brute force—but erosion.  Slow, patient, almost artistic but not, they’re not that clever.  Not even close, but you get the idea.  

They think they’re teaching you. 

Yeah, they’re teachers, for sure…

And you try, at first.  You explain, clarify, soften your words, sharpen your awareness. You become hyper-vigilant, studying every interaction like it’s a test you forgot to prepare for. 

But the rules keep changing.  The target keeps moving.  There is no winning here, only surviving longer than you should.

What’s most unsettling is the calm.  The composure.  The way they can wound without actual communication, dismantle you while appearing composed, even righteous.  It’s not chaos—it’s control.  Cold, deliberate, and practiced.

Then you get stronger.

You refuse to shrink.  Not dramatically, not all at once.  Just small chants, proclamations.  A silence here.  A swallowed truth there.  Until the day you notice—you’re speaking louder.. the way you need to. 

You’re not thinking the same way.  You’re not surviving anymore, you’re fighting. 

Quiet realization: this is not a puzzle to solve.  Not a person to fix.  No dynamic to improve.

It is a fire.  One that YOU choose to start.

They wanted it, they get it.

And you are singing in it, not wondering why it feels so lovely.

So you step louder, more MADLY.

Not loudly, as in dictionary definition.  Not with spectacle. Just conviction, decision—clean, internal, final.  You gather this new draft of yourself and leave the rest behind. 

No explanation owed.  No permission required.  And if these devils want either, let them suffer.

Distance becomes Composition.  Silence becomes the panacea.

And in that sense, something unfamiliar returns—your own REAL voice.  A fighter, and not contrived or exaggerated, misinterpreted.  But REAL.

Not perfect.  Not unshaken.  You are again yours, taught by YOU.