Somewhere Between Betrayal and Gratitude

Somewhere between betrayal and gratitude rests a healing Kate on this blackest of Fridays.

I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of exploitation — a harsh rupture after a day filled with genuine gratitude for the people in my life. It’s left me in a strange place today, on the one American day dedicated to greed, excess, and consumption. How exactly do I proceed?

I have to set aside the anger of betrayal.
I have to refuse the pull of consumer frenzy.
And somehow, I have to carve out space to keep healing.

Oy fucking vey.

There is an agony one must travel through in the healing process — a place where pain becomes the axis of existence. Where movement, breath, and blood are all encircled by an all-knowing ache. It’s the price of admission on the healing train.

And yet, in that pain — right in the center of that deep, dark pool — is where gratitude lives. Pain strips away illusion. Pain exposes truth. Pain reveals real people — the ones who show up with love and loyalty, not expectation or ego.

Yesterday was, quite literally, night and fucking day.

In the daylight?
I was overwhelmed by the love in my life — by friendships that endure, by the people who walk beside me, by the fierce loyalty that held me upright through the wreck and everything since.

But with darkness came betrayal — an affront delivered at my weakest, a reminder that not everyone who calls you “friend” understands the word.

And today, I’m just… in a weird fucking place.

I know most of my friends are fiercely loyal. That much is clear. But then there are the few — the ones who would betray trust for personal gain, the ones who view friendship as a scorecard, ready to cash in when you’re most vulnerable.

Shame on them.
Shame on them for exploiting my weakness, for twisting my success into their opportunity, for perverting friendship into a goddamn transaction.
Fuck them for that.

And yet… gratitude remains.
Strong, quiet, anchored.
Because betrayal only highlights what loyalty really looks like.

The world is the world.
It’s people who make it weird.

People inject complexity into simple systems.
People approach honesty with suspicion.
People twist poetry into venom, spewing hate where only love existed.

Shakespeare said the whole world’s a stage — or something close enough — and goddamn if he wasn’t right. Some folks think they’re starring in a Hollywood production and will claw their way into drama where none exists.

Fuck those pricks for disrupting the calm, for inviting chaos to the table.