I hate them. I hate them. I hate them so much. And I can't. They're not the problem, she is. But it just steams me up so bad when I think about them. They were the perfect one. The one she'd throw everything away for. And I get okay for a while, and then the anger rears its ugly head. I can't just keep throwing fits every time my temper gets the best of me. I have to act maturely about this, even though I've made a debauchery of that prior to now. I realize I've acted stupidly. Will I ever admit that to her aloud? Never. She doesn't deserve to know I regret my actions. She doesn't deserve anything, in my opinion. I'd rather she die in some cold pit somewhere, alone and miserable as every awful thing she ever did crushes her very soul. But hey, who cares what I think? No one. No one gives a flying fuck about what I want. Even I don't care, which is why it makes it okay for no one else to care. Who am I kidding, it's not okay. I want to care, I want other people to care, but I don't want anyone to get close. Dealing with other people is so exhausting and I haven't the patience to do it. One person. That's my limit. And I still spend most of my time caring about the person I hate most. It would be easier if my life wasn't so intertwined with hers. If I could just leave. I want to. I can't handle being around her most times. It hurts when she's near me. I'm literally crying right now because I'm thinking about it. And I can't cry, because our roommate is out in the living room. I can't ever cry. They're all waiting, all watching for me to have the final breakdown where I spill all my feelings and everything goes back to normal. It's not going to happen. She hurt me. And it was my fault. I cared too much and it came back to bite me in the ass. I realize that, I understand. It's my fault I can't be happy. I trust all these people, I let them in just enough to hurt me, but not enough to understand me, and then they take what they want and leave me injured and alone.
--
She made me talk to her. And tried to fix things. I don't hate them. I hate her. Sure, things are just fine for her. She's gotten everything she wanted. But where does that leave me? Holding all the baggage with none of the money. I've got nothing to show for these last few years except a long list of fuck-ups, all for her sake. And now if I'm angry, or hurt, or just wanting things to go back the way they were, I'm the bad guy. I'm always the bad guy. I hate this. I hate all of this. I just want this all to end. I want to stop breathing. It's not just this little heartbreak drama. I've thrown away so many years on this shit that I don't know what to do with my life anymore. And while I know suicide isn't the answer, what is? I've defined so much of my life around who I've been these last few years and set myself on this path of perpetuated destruction, and this was just the straw that broke the camel's back and opened my eyes.
I don't even know what to do. Do I feel relieved now that we've talked? No. She made them see me, and while I don't hate them, I do. I hate what they embody. Something I could never have. Something I'll never be. Not to perpetuate the idea of the friendzone, but sometimes, just sometimes, it really does hurt people. It's not like I threw away these last few years trying to get into her pants, but I did throw away a larger part of my life than I would have for just a friend. And that was my fault. Everything is my fault. I just want to die.
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