Pffft. Ride or die chick? Yup. That was me. I’d have your back. I’d support your dreams. I’d encourage the crap outta your progression. I was great at that. No one could top me. I was that chick. That girl. That woman. I was da bomb. But pffft. No more. Not me. Never. Again. What the heck was I thinking? Why did I set myself up for a slow, heartbreaking death?
Who was I kidding, trying to grow up someone who obviously didn’t want to grow up. Who, come to find out, wasn’t interested in riding or dying with me. . . or growing up with me. Who the devil wants to ride for so long, only to die a hella slow, heartbreaking death?
Where did I think we were gonna ride off to, anyway? Into the sunset? Right into happily ever after? Then live in the land of one for all and all for one? While starring in the fairytale of you got me and I got you? Stupid me. I thought we’d take turns riding. You drive me somewhere. Then I’d drive you. You encourage me. Then I encourage you. You stroke my back. Then I stroke yours. During all that stroking and riding, I never thought you’d want to stroke someone else. Ride with someone else. Die for someone else.
And what the heck was I supposed to be dying for anyway? For you? Killing myself for you? For what? To help pay your bills? To make sure you drove a new car? To make sure you were well groomed and pruned for all the others you were pruning and grooming for? Was I friggin crazy? Dying for you. Spending quality time with you. Bonding with you. Loving you. Enjoying time with you. What was I thinking? Who was I kidding? The only dying I did was death to myself. Death to my psyche. Death to me. All that did was lead to a hella, slow, heartbreaking death.
Call me bitter. Call me cautious. But I’m not riding or dying for Jack anymore. Jack can ride and die for his daggone self. I don’t wanna die a slow, heartbreaking death again. That sucked. That sucked big time. I’m not riding or dying by myself anymore. Anyone who is worthy of me and my time and my energy . . . totally has to WANT to ride or die with me.
You know what? Forget ride or die. No more ride or die chick. No more riding or dying for any dudes . . . or with any dudes. No more wanting any dudes to ride or die with me. Instead, I’ll just ride or die for my damn self. For me and Jesus. He’s really the only one who’s faithful anyway.
I’ll love my own daggone self. I’ll buy my own daggone car and my own daggone house. I’ll pay my own daggone bills and take me out to the daggone movies my daggone self. I’ll tell my problems to God and confide in Jesus. He’ll be my best friend. My partner.
But then again . . . on second thought . . . when He sends me THE one. You know . . . THE one He chose for me . . . maybe I’d kinda, sorta wanna ride off into that sunset again. I’d kinda, sorta like to skip off into happily ever after again. I’d maybe, kinda, sorta, wanna ride or die again. But only a little bit. Just a teeny, weeny, wittle bit.
