i was just kissed by a 40-something year old man against my will. I feel so fucking disgusting. i brushed my teeth over a dozen times and drank enough mouth wash to make myself sick. and between peeling the skin off my lips and taking shots, i realize that i found another reason to hate myself.
” how does it feel to know you’re damaged goods?”
i want to believe that all of this was the result of my crazy, fucked up imagination. but even so, why wouldn’t you try to save me from my paranoia ONCE? i miss all of you—especially YOU. and i know i shouldn’t, but i can’t help myself. and even if this turns out to be nothing more than a HORRIBLE misunderstanding, i can’t fix it with you guys. and it fucking sucks knowing that.
fack, i hate being so goddamned people-dependent.
your last tumblr didn’t sound good at all. are you all right?? call me if you need someone to talk to. i hope i didn’t ruin your mood by freaking out. sorry if i did. i’ll call you a little later today. please feel better when you wake up. i’m worried about you.
it’s been a long time. things here? they’re all right; no unicorns and rainbows or shit like that. just okayness. and i’m fine with it. life is at a state of calm, and the only reason i don’t like it, is because i’m not used to “calm”. i’m out of my element. and from what i hear, things are going well for you, too. but to be honest? as honest as honest can be? i really wish they weren’t. i really don’t want you to be happy. i don’t want you to be ok. i don’t want things to “work out” for you. i don’t even want you to barely get by. nope. i want everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve hoped for, to crash and burn in a flaming wreck as i quietly sit on the sidelines and watch you suffer at the hands of your own devices. suffer and die. because i hate hypocrites and liars. i hate people of your kind. our kind. yes, i am a hypocrite and liar, but in my prior post, i already mentioned that i hate myself. unfortunately for you, we’re covering new ground today. you’re the focus of my anger; and don’t be mistaken, it is not misdirected rage. i have every right to feel the way i do, you selfish, arrogant, back-stabbing—well, that could just go on and on, couldn’t it? but i hope your goals and aspirations go down the fucking drain. i hope you wind up sad and unhappy. because really, i don’t think you deserve anything. i don’t think you deserve to be content with your life. but hey, when all of this is over, at least you “learned an important life lesson”. fuck you, you dumb cunt.
and it’s out of my system. no more wasting energy on someone as useless and worthless as you. have a great day. please note: i’m being fucking sarcastic. BITCH. by the way, Joey, you’re the only one that reads this. this is not directed at you. haha. i hope there are no misunderstandings. ><
quite a dibilitating mental illness. stifling aggression and repressing neediness. feeling guilty and anxious every waking moment. wanting, hoping, praying. praying for love. praying for happiness. praying for deliverance; deliverance in a single person. a “knight in shining armor”. i want someone to love me the way i know no one is capable of. i build pedestals, idolize; hold people in such high esteem, they become more godly than human. but really, do they mean anything to me? i don’t know. i don’t think i care. i just attach. i take hostages. i’m nice for the wrong reasons, so i’m not really nice. or am i? if you’re selectively nice, then you aren’t genuinely nice. despite my “selflessness”, my “sacrifice”, my only accomplishment is this undercurrent of hostility i’ve breeded, directed at everyone and everything. even the people and things i convinced myself i loved. but most of all, i hate myself. 19 years and counting.
i don’t want to count anymore.
what do i have to show for myself? what can i be proud of? what have i accomplished? NOTHING. exercising kindness, compassion, and sincerity? being a good person isn’t a useful life skill. it’s a handicap. a gross waste of time, energy, and morale. time to rethink this. rethink EVERYTHING. maybe someday, i can find a healthy balance between business and pleasure. maybe someday, i won’t need to focus on fixing my bad habits, but i’ll be able to trust my good ones. but that day isn’t today. and i don’t think it’ll be anytime soon.
fml. and once again, the world keeps turning. time stops for no one. pity, really. that would come in handy once in a while.
everyone’s been drifting apart, really. and if your sobriety is a problem, then they aren’t worth your time. and you want to just stop being friends? honestly? i’m disappointed.
i’m writing because i can’t say this to your face. i’m really sorry about what’s happening right now. moving in, moving out, my mom, our friends—everything. i’m sorry, and i feel terrible, really. but for some reason, i don’t know if i should. i’d like to believe that everything that has happened between us recently was unintentional. i’d like to believe that i wasn’t being taken advantage of. i want to say that it was my fault for trying to buy your happiness, for giving you whatever i could whenever i could. but there’s a “what if” in my head, and i’m beginning to think it’s more than just paranoia. i can’t help but feel angry and used and disgusted with myself. we had good memories, and you have treated me well most times. i never want that to end. but fuck, i’m hurt. FUCKING HURT. honestly, i don’t know what to make of all this. i don’t know if you’re truly sorry, or if you’re just using your charm. i’m naive; i often mistake charisma for sincerity. i don’t know what you’re thinking. and it fucking sucks. i tell myself you didn’t mean it, but you and i both know you aren’t stupid, joey. if you read this and want to talk, call me. i’m sorry for causing you trouble.
yes, i was worried about you when you were tweaking out in my car; it was obvious you drank a little too much and i didn’t want you to start seizing and die. but i was worried because you were drinking, period. and i just wanted to make sure you were all right. shane is a friend, and i would have felt terrible if something had happened to him, but it goes without saying that i was equally worried about you. you’re important to me. so, shut the fuck up. haha. i can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong. or maybe you don’t want me to help you? haha.
because that would explain a lot. :)
motives and reasoning aside, i’ve come to the sad realization that my true display of whateverthefuckyouwannacallit this evening was nothing more than a pathetic, manipulative cry for attention. haha.
fuckkkkk, girls really are twats, huh?
