Fine.

I fucking miss you.

I don't hate you. Even though you said all of that.

It just hurts so fucking bad.

I never imagined this.

And that is the truth.

A couple hours before he broke up with me, I was sitting with a friend, and talking to her about it.
She asked me if I thought we would end up not being together.
I remember I felt like that was impossible. I shook my head. That couldn't happen.

But it did.

You hit lower than a girl would have. Girls know how to strike exactly where it's going to hurt the most, and apparently so do you. I just don't understand. I didn't do anything. And you turned around and clawed my eyes out as if I'd cheated on you with all your best friends and then some. I'm sorry you had to waste so much money on me. But you didn't have to come. I told you not to. And I couldn't get out of bed because I was tired as fuck. The timing was terrible. I would have been tired anyways, but you also came at the end of a week that I spent up all night every night typing papers. And when you asked to take my mom's car I got uncomfortable. That's just not something people do. And when you told me you were "fucking bored" with attitude, I was rubbed the wrong way. My bad mood from lack of sleep was only intensified.

We were apart so long that I learned how to live without you. I learned how to live without seeing you. All I had to do was talk to you. I missed feeling you, but at the same I learned to live without touch. People would reach out to hug me, or just bump into me and I would flinch. I didn't have to see you, because your pictures were on Facebook and Myspace. When you got in my car, I was exhausted and stressed because there were so many people getting pulled over, I was almost out of gas, and I could hardly keep my eyes open. I couldn't take you seriously in your uniform, and I wasn't overflowing with joy and excitement like I thought I would be. You looked like a little boy. And I felt old. Again, you were excited about something, and I wasn't. I was just so turned off and I don't know why. Your voice was even beginning to irritate me. Your hands were cold and you smelled like the plane. You took off your shirt, and were even more muscular than I thought. It was too much. I continued to pick out your flaws, which is ironic because I used to think you had none.

You just cut me really deep. That's all there is to it. Instead of that never happening, I was being held by someone else while I cried. I was being comforted by someone who could actually be here for me. I was being cared for by someone who understands what it's like to not be perfect, unlike you.

Let's point out the obvious, shall we?

YOU dumped me. So I'm not really sure why you're flipping a bitch. I didn't do anything. I didn't do a single thing wrong, except that I wasn't happy. So you dumped me. Now you have the nerve to call me a whore. The nerve to freak out on me, for not doing anything. Because, no matter what you believe, I didn't do a fucking thing wrong. I didn't cheat on you. I didn't even think about it. I didn't lie to you. Because he was only my friend. So what if he's more than that now? It's not like you're in my life. Nothing that exists now existed then. So whatever. I don't need you. I was obviously just hindering your ability to find perfection. Sorry I wasted your fucking time.

You can't say I didn't warn you. Because I did. From the very beginning I told you I wasn't a good person. From the very beginning I warned you that I had a tendency to fuck up. It's not my fault you didn't listen. I'm sorry I can't be who you want me to be. I'm just not nearly good enough for you. Obviously. What else is the problem? If it was easy for you to be without me, than obviously you're better. Did you ever think about how bad it stung to hear about all the fun you were having while I was stuck here, miserable. You were always happy, I wasn't. I felt pathetic for crying. I felt pathetic because I couldn't be like you. I couldn't have fun and be happy during this seperation.

Well I don't want to be you. I don't want anything to do with you. I appreciate you, for hitting me as low as you could. I'm glad you know me well enough to cut me where i bleed the most. I don't care what you think. I know I'm a whore, big fucking deal. But you knew that too. You said it yourself: "that girl who i fucked at a campout."

Sorry I broke your heart. But if you get a chance, if you could spare just a moment of your precious time, step away from the fucking mirror, and take a look at what you did to mine.

I'm laughing.

Because that makes you just as bad as him.

I feel like I need to be alone.

I'm keeping myself constantly busy and I don't know why. I keep searching for things to do. When I'm with people, I want to be alone.

When I'm alone, I can't stand it.

Why do I always have to feel so numb?

It doesn't make sense to me. Why can't I express and feel emotion like a normal person.


Maybe I just need a trigger. Something to wash over me so I can finally at least break down over this. Because I'm either doing a really great thing, or a really terrible thing. Breaking down is a normal after effect. So why haven't I done it.

Because I decided it would be easier to be happy. I've never made that decision before. Ever. I've always choosen the darker road. I'm not the type of person who goes out of her way to be happy. I'm the opposite. So what changed?

Maybe my subconscious has a horrible plan. A plan which consists of me holding in every feeling and pain I have from what happened. A plan that differs from the normality of embracing pain. Maybe everything will stay tied up inside until that last possible moment, and maybe that will cause everything to be ten times worse than it would normally have been.

Or maybe I'm just fucking crazy.