black ink, in cursive

I haven’t written in so long, and I think it’s making me crazy. I miss you so fucking much. It’s so stupid, because you’re an asshole, and you don’t deserve it. Fuck you. I hate you. I really hate you. The thing is, it takes a lot of love to hate you so much. I believe that is a paraphrased quote from somewhere, but as far as the author is concerned, my memory fails me.

I’m about to use an incredibly clichéd simile, but it illustrates the situation perfectly, so you’ll have to forgive me. You’re like a scab I keep picking at. I need to leave it ALONE and let it heal so it won’t bleed or irritate me anymore. I need to stop messing with it so it can heal and I can get the hell over you. But I can’t. I physically can’t.

At first I thought it was the alcohol that made me keep texting you/going back to you/thinking about you/missing you/crying about you. But I’m fucking sober. And you’re still in my head. It physically feels like my heart is hurting when I think about you.

Even when I had a boyfriend, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. He treated me better than any guy ever treated me in my life. I am not exaggerating. He respected me, he cared about me, he never played games, and he was always a gentleman. He was a good person with a heart of gold. He even loved me. Yet, I still couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were a dick to me. You were mean. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?

When I told you I was getting help for my drinking, you didn’t even say anything. You were one of the reasons I wanted to get sober. I wanted you to be proud of me. When I texted you about my one-month sobriety chip, you didn’t even respond. That’s fucked up.

I don’t know how to end this. I am so bad at ending things. Conclusion paragraphs, etc. It’s always awkward. I just thought we were friends. I respected you. I need to make myself understand that you don’t deserve my respect.

Walking By

Running away and hiding doesn’t solve anything. Neither does getting drunk. I’ve learned that the hard way. I just want to get on a plane and fly to California to get away from my problems. But then I remember that I’ve already tried that and it doesn’t work.

I hate that I let other people’s opinions of me affect me this way. I hate that I don’t have control over my emotions. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable and I fucking hate that.

This is the first time I’ve written in a while.

I’m so scared about getting sober. I mean, I am fucking terrified. But I have to do this. I have no control when it comes to alcohol, no matter how many times I try to convince myself otherwise.

I find myself wanting to go to sleep and never wake up. I find myself thinking of suicide again. I’m not going to try anything; I will never try to hurt myself ever again. I swore I wouldn’t. But just the thought of it keeps coming back to me. It scares me.

Every time I think I’ve finally found the place that feels like home, I ruin it. And I feel like an outcast, an outsider, a freak. I think a semi-colon was supposed be used somewhere at the end of that sentence. Oh well, I really don’t fucking care right now.

I don’t deserve love. I know that. But there are people way less deserving of love than me, and they still have it. “Stranger things have happened; stranger souls have been loved.” I forget where that quote is from. I apologize for not giving the author credit.

Remember that time last summer when we hung out, just as friends? I had so much fun with you. Just laughing and shit. I even remember the outfit I was wearing that day. It’s not as obsessive as it seems, I’m quite good at remembering which clothes I wore on certain days.

the last sentence in a Hemingway novel

“Oh man, I can’t remember anything without you.” –The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

I can. And it sucked. It was boring. And then I met you. It wasn’t just you; there were a lot of people that made things change. But you stood out. And then you went away, and I then I went away. And I went to school and started to drink. I drank a lot. I drank far too much for my own good. When I got drunk I would text you. And we would have really funny conversations. Sometimes I would text you things I’d regret saying in the morning, but it was okay, everything was cool. Sometimes I would pretend to be drunk just to have an excuse to text you.

I’m not stupid. I know you probably didn’t give those stupid texts a second thought. But they meant a lot to me. The next fall when I went away they meant even more to me because I was alone.

I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m trying to say here, or what the purpose of this almost incoherent ramble is. You’re obviously never going to read it. I’m not stupid enough to show it to you. Here’s the thing: you’re the first person I want to text when something funny happens to me. You’re the first person I want to text when something bad happens to me. And honestly, right now, you’re the only person I want to be with. And yes, I am fully aware of how naïve and ridiculous and cheesy and sappy and STUPID that sounds. And I am fully aware that I will never get a chance to tell you this. I’m not even sure I would want to. It would ruin everything. But right now, sitting on my bed, typing on my laptop, I wanted to write it. I don’t think I realized how serious I was until I typed that just a few seconds ago, actually.

So there it is. Maybe you’ll magically come across this anonymous blog and read this. But that isn’t going to happen. I just needed to say it.

bacardi lemonade 6% alc content

For me, love is something you earn. I just don’t hand it out willy-nilly. Do people even use that expression anymore? Whatever. The point is, I don’t understand how people love others, or fall in love with others, so easily and so often. It seems like a weakness to me, giving into love without making one earn it from you, without making them work for it. So when I do decide I love someone, they really earned it. In my mind that means they’re worthy of it, and most people aren’t. So that’s really saying something. But when someone I love betrays me, when someone I love abandons me or leaves me, it hurts so much more than it should. Because in my mind I regarded that person so highly. I had such respect for him. Was it all an act?

Was being my friend, one of my best friends, all just an act to get in my pants? Was that the whole premise of the friendship? That sucks. I mean that really sucks. You were important to me. Your friendship was important to me. I liked you as a person,; I respected you. And I don’t respect many people. Most people I look down upon or am disgusted or disappointed in. I thought you were different. I’m done with love. It is for the weak. And yes, I am fully aware of how bitter I sound. But that’s what I’ve become, a bitter cynic. A realist.

fuck

I had a wonderful, amazing, profound dream last night.

In the dream, someone loved me.

“It’s all going to be gone soon.” I said to the boy in the dream.

Then my alarm went off. Seriously.

chicken

She was dangerous, that’s what she was. She was violence and chaos. She was a loaded pistol, ready to put a bullet in your heart (or her own) at any second. She was cynical and jaded, and had been fucked over more times than you can count. She was the big bang; she was the beginning of the universe, all the stars exploding into raging flames. She does not believe in falling in love; she considers it bullshit. But the fact that she considered it bullshit made her sad.

She was the knife wound that struck an artery, she was the remark that struck a nerve. She’s the one you imagine having conversations with in your head, and you go over the dialogue again and again.

She’s read every book that she can get her hands on. Salinger, Bukowski, Hemingway, this is what keeps her going.

She’s a silent twister you get sucked into, and you try desperately to find the eye of the storm to find some calm, but it seems impossible. Everything whips around you at perilously high speeds.

Do you fucking dare get near her? Do you fucking dare to get close to her; to try to understand her?

Please don’t. Because, if by some miracle you do manage to get close to her, you will eventually leave. Just like the rest of them. And she can’t fucking handle that anymore.