I've owed you, my readers, this story for quite a long time. It's been one I've kept pretty tight lipped about because there are situations and people that are close to me involved, and it's complicated. As I type these first few sentences I'm still struggling with whether or not to post this on a forum so public as my blog. But this is my space-a space where I'm supposed to speak my mind; this blog has seen me through so many joys and heartaches that stifling it all away seems unfair to this blog, to those of you who are reading, and to myself. Censorship is not a thing I do if I can help it-I'm not going to edit myself out of fear. I want to be real here.
Last week I finally accepted that I had been used. This was a fact those closest to me had been trying to convince me of for a while now. How is it that your friends always know before you do? Yet, ever the optimistic, I spent a lot of time defending the actions of someone who was supposed to be my friend. Friend... That's the word he used after it was all said and done. He had a rough childhood. He has trouble connecting. He's just clueless. He doesn't mean to make me feel like this. I didn't think there was any way he could have malicious intent because he was my friend... I'm finally going to tell you about Frank.
