apparently everything is going to suck from now on. if it’s not me feeling/acting fucked up and crazy, it’s someone else.
KILL ME. I can’t fucking deal with it anymore.
so, to summarize, fuck everyone/everything. but especially the two of you.
‘Dearest’ Amelia,
some days I forget I ever knew you, and some days I can’t stop picturing you straddling my boyfriend on my couch, and even worse: some days I remember when we were ‘friends’. I thought we were the friends people talk about that they made in college who they know for the rest of their lives. I thought I would keep in touch with you and we would share stories, and one day I would marry someone and you would drive to LA and be in the wedding. I thought that we understood eachother in a way I never felt like anyone understood me before. you got it when I wanted to spray paint shapes on the concrete on my back porch. and better than that, you made shape outlines I liked and wanted to use along with mine. we drew pictures all over eachother in magic marker. we made tiaras. we painted cat whiskers on eachother’s faces. our aesthetics complimented one another.
when we fucked that first time, I felt like I had ruined everything. I’m older than you, so I felt sure it had been my idea somehow, but I couldn’t exactly remember. I cried that morning when you left. I felt so bad about it. I didn’t want anything to fuck up our friendship. but we talked, and I felt ok. neither of us had/has(?) been with very many people, and I felt like we had just gotten close in a strange and specific way. and it was just between us, I thought. I felt like I could be comfortable with you. why would I be self-concious in front of one of my best friends? you knew all kinds of strange things about me. you knew me as well as anyone. as well as he did/does. in some ways, maybe better that he does.
both of you knew what kind of life I’ve had, and my fear of trusting people in my life, and the value I put on loyalty. I don’t let many people near me because of it. I have never been close with more than one or two people at a time. you act like you’re the only person who’s had a fucked up life, but you’re not. so I let you in. I invited you over. I stayed with you the night you locked yourself out of you car. I stayed with you every time you needed me. I waited for you in the bathroom while you cried. I made you dinners. I bought you drinks. I even sewed up the dress you were wearing the night you kissed my boyfriend for the first time. I fucking loved you. inside and out, as you always say. I thought you were beautiful. you could have done all kinds of fucked up, crazy things to yourself or anyone else and I would have been there for all of it. I would have talked you off any ledge, lent you any amount of money I had, donated a fucking kidney to you… anything.
and then you stabbed me in the back. you fucking cunt. you made my worst nightmares come true. and it was for someone you admittedly weren’t even that into, and someone you knew I loved so much it hurt. you did it in the home I invited you into. how stupid am I? AND you let me believe I was crazy for suspecting it. you of all people. you fucking KNOW how it feels for everyone to think you’re crazy. how would it feel if every crazy thing you ever felt or thought was true? that’s my life now. that’s what our friendship left me with.
my only comfort in this is that if he’s the kind of person you’re attracted to, that you’ll get what you deserve one day. maybe then you’ll understand how bad this feels. maybe then you’ll take a minute to feel sorry for what you’ve done.
Would’ve loved you always,
Alanna
so you don’t want to come to me and I have to MAKE YOU MISS ME for you to fucking be there. I TOOK YOU BACK. that makes you lucky, and if you treat me like you feel grateful for that then I should be being treated EXCEPTIONALLY WELL, and I will be grateful and forgiving and loving (like I always was) in return. but… SURPRISE! I’m not being treated exceptionally well, I’m being treated like a problem. like a rash, or a wart, or nausea. something annoying you wish would fuck off.
and now I have to write a letter to the bitch who broke my heart. to the worst fucking investment I ever made.
here’s my lost post…
I’m having the worst night since the night I found out… I had to look, it was October 9th. and that doesn’t diminish all the fucking awful nights between the two.
he’s gone and I guess he’s supposed to come back, but I don’t know if I want him to. it’s easier if we just call it off. cut our losses. right now while there’s incentive instead of tomorrow when we’ve made up. we’ll still know it’s useless, but we won’t be able to do it.
one of my posts got lost earlier.
I said… this is the 2nd worst night of my life behind October 9th.
and now I think we just broke up. I couldn’t stop crying for about 20 mins and now I’m just sitting here shaking.
I think I can expect it to be officially over when I wake up. I don’t know what to do. he just won’t work with me at all. I came back and he’s been difficult at every turn. all I want is someone to hold my hand while I try to get better inside. I don’t want it explained. I don’t want to argue. I just want him to show that he cares and keep his promises.
is that too much to ask from someone who has everything to make up for?
but if he doesn’t want to do it, then he doesn’t really want to be here.
I’m so fucking sad.
I’m just going to watch Drive again and wish Ryan G would come rescue me from my fucked up life. I’d take anyone who has a voice as calming as his.
styling for this janky shoot.
beach hair, bright eyemakeup, and two-toned lips. I ended up kind of liking what I did. not sure I’ll like the photos though. the photographer is…
idk. all these dudes seem weird to me. over-enthusiastic, and always teasing and trying to touch your knee. errrrm.
this was for her. he can’t remember which one it was, but I feel sure
it would’ve been this one.
yeaterday I found a red balloon from Valentine’s Day. it felt like someone had knocked me over the head.
it still feels like a wound. it still hurts every single day.
got Jeffrey Campbells last week. the right one was a gift from a boy who favors my scarred, fucked up foot.
I look upset, and he looks up to something. our whole relationship, summed up.
my makeup looks awesome though. so there’s that. sigh.
crying in the work bathroom.
you’re in there, and I’m in here. what’s the difference between this and not being together at all, except for the arguments?
