More than just holding hands

These holidays just really suck. I'm just fucking sick of everything. Every time I step into school, I die a little on the inside. Sick of the company. Sick of the workload that never seems to get done. Sick of being sick; pills just really get to you. Wrong weekend for everything I suppose. Or it's just been a long time coming. Too much of anything drives me up the wall. I hate being alone in pictures. The dreaded week is drawing nearer as more and more questions and complications arise. Sick of being dependent and fucking reliant, especially when I am constantly reminded that I will never be the most important girl in your life. Yes, I mean it exactly how it sounds every single time. Whatever. It makes me miss (out on) so many people and so many things. It makes me feel like the kind of girls I cannot stand. It makes me hate you and more importantly it really makes me hate me. And it makes my birthday feel hollow and forced, thus the intense dread. Another reason for all this hatred is the prick of jealousy and nostalgia when watching something fresh unfurl when I am so far down from that that everything has become insert-word-here. Such is (my) life. I think I just really need to get out more.

I must be sure from the very start,

That you'll love me more than her