it's not right, but it's okay

A lot of issues (exes) resurfacing in my life right now. Well, I guess we should start with the happiest one. I love that my kitty always appears when it should and fulfills it's post of facilitating semi-awkward next-to-car conversations all year round. Ha. A surprising night, I must say, of wine and Maroon 5. My wrist hurts like a bitch now. Awoke in the morning still drunk and got yelled at to drive up to maccerz for breakfast. It was truly pleasant actually having conversations and what not. Right now, I feel perfectly fine because feelings ruin everything and we clearly don't share them. I was however, going out of my head thinking about you a little bit but that's purely physical. Alright then. This fucking month really proved that I know when things are a bad idea (ie please, it won't even show) I just do them anyway because my life is still a goddamn mess. I still live like I did when I was 16, acting out of rebellion and anger and the constant need to best others by ruining myself. The sinking feeling in my stomach when they told me and I read what I read. And although it is fucking painful for me, I still stand by what I said which that ultimately, I will be happy for you if you get what you've always wanted because I love you so much. But I'm not as big as you are, I don't know how to be. The truth is it hurts not just my pride, but me. Is everything I believed in just an illusion? I'm not so naive, I am not referring to what you and I may have said when we were together. I am talking about all the times you were there when I needed you. Through the faithlessness and hopelessness and darkness of life, you were the only thing in my life that was real (how fucking pathetic is that). But now I can't help but wonder: Did you even care or was I simply a victim of yet another of your sick schemes? This isn't about my pride as it is about the fact that without you, I have nothing to hold on to. Nothing else in my fucking life is real. Not even you now. It's sick the way my mind works. I am paranoid about everything and I am always fucking right, but I never want to believe it until proven otherwise. And when it happens (and it always fucking does), I instantly do something (or someone) self-destructive as some sick fucking revenge when I am hurting no one but myself. In my panic-stricken state, I began to wonder if maybe I've been wrong all along. That you're the one who ruined my life and he's the one that's somehow supposed to make it worth it. I fucking hate him for what he did. I hate him for ruining it. Because as much as things between us will always turn to shit, I know that somewhere inside me I wasn't ready to let it go. In between blinding rage and jealousy, I have these moments of weaknesses when I think maybe I'm making a mistake. Ah but what the fuck do I know? Clearly, there's nothing in my past that I have ever truly let go.


All we know is falling