Sunday, December 31, 2006
Before the happy comes the angry...Dear The Used-To-Be,
How dare you make me feel like I'm the only one at wrong here? How dare you make me hate myself even more? How dare you fecking make me feel like everything ended because of me?
I wasn't the one who pushed you away! I wasn't the one who wasn't satisfied with what we had! I wasn't the one who admitted that I wanted the other to move on! I wasn't the one who had another person who affects me more than you!
That was all you.
How dare you try to put all the blame on me?
You know what screw being nice. Screw trying to find closure with you because you know what everytime I try to do so, you have guts to shove it all in my face and open the scabs and make an even deeper wound than before.
Just because you were the first guy who made me feel good about being me; just because you were the first guy who can make me smile for days and days on end because of what you just said. It doesn't mean you had the fecking right to turn it all around and make me hate myself more than I did before I met you.
Well, you know what? Here's the big middle finger flapping in your face.
You used to make me smile. There were times I just talk to you and you can say the simplest things and I would smile. I'd smile because it was thoughtful, or funny, or caring.
Suddenly you started getting colder and colder. I try to get in but you keep pushing me out. You used to tell me things, now if I ask I'm accused as a nosy brat.
You meant the world to me. I would have done anything, absolutely anything for you.
Maybe that's why you never really needed me in the first place. Because I was too fecking available for you, unlike her. Dearest too goodness Abigail whom you can never predict whether she likes you or not. Whether you guys are friends or barely talking.
Maybe I should have been like that with you, huh?
Maybe then you would have treated me more than just a personal lackey who comes at your beck and call.
See this middle finger? Well here it goes, flapping in your face again.
You know what else?! You can die for all I care. I shared the gospel with you already, and it's your fault whether you want to believe in it or not. I don't care.
Alright, I do care. Maybe just a little, but that doesn't mean anything ok?
So maybe I'll pray that someone out there might actually make a successful attempt at saving your soul before you die, but that doesn't mean it's gonna be me.
Because I want to have nothing to do with you.
I hate you.
For the first time in my entire life, you made me hate someone.
[Insert The Used-To-Be's full name], I fecking hate you and I never ever want to see you again. I never want to have anything to do with you. I hate your guts and I hope you and dearest Abigail, who may I say is so bipolar that you'd definitely suit each other anyway, have a happy unpredictable miserable life together.
It's too bad you're never gonna read this because you see, you're ex-girlfriend, if you can even call her that, is nothing but scared insecure girl, which may I just point out you helped me become like this.
You weren't satisfied with just dumping me the moment you got whatever it is you wanted from me, you had to mess with my mind. Crush my already shattered self-esteem and make me feel lower than I ever could. No, you weren't satisfied with just leaving me when I needed you the most, you had to blame it all on me. No, no, none of this is your fault. It's all me.
Well, fuck you.