(see previous journal) a lot of the right half of my face is covered in blood.
FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
I never never never never want to hear another girl tell me Much Obliged is a cute romantic story because it's a piece of shit with no reward and I lived it.
Fucking lived it.
So now I have to try to figure out how to stop this bleeding, or maybe just let it keep flowing.
I have no strength to keep dating psychos for 3 more years or be told I can't be loved.
I can't keep this journal anymore. Thank you for having read it for this past year but this is over with, i'm done talking about the same things over and over and i'm tired of dating crazy women, or women who feel absolutely no attraction to me because I look deformed.
I want to clarify: this is not about not having love. This is about not having someone that I DO love. This is about the football being pulled away from Charlie Brown for the last time. This is not about a writing insecurity. This is about creating an empty tribute that means nothing to the one I meant it for, and the sorrow that comes whenever someone asks me if it was a true story and how it ended. LET ME SPELL THIS OUT SINCE NOBODY SEEMS TO UNDERSTAND THIS: IT IS NOT ABOUT WANTING "A GIRLFRIEND" IT IS ABOUT THE FACT THAT I AM IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE WHO INEVITABLY DOES NOT LOVE ME FOR THE 5,000000000000TH TIME.
I am weary, FUCKING weary, of not being the girl that gets taken home to your mom, but instead being the other girl that bangs on your bedroom window at 2am on the outside of the suburban house looking in. The shadowy, psychotic figure that boils your rabbit's head in your kitchen pot for love. At my core I am not a psycho, and I am not a warm, wet cavity to crawl into when the going gets rough. Being the here-and-there girl is not good enough, and it is neither here nor there.
And absolutely nothing has changed since I started this journal.
And if you ever, EVER think your lovelife is bad, just take a gander at mine. Because nobody in the entire world will ever love me. Nobody will ever get those butterflies when I come around, I am ugly and sick.
Good night.
The End.
FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
I never never never never want to hear another girl tell me Much Obliged is a cute romantic story because it's a piece of shit with no reward and I lived it.
Fucking lived it.
So now I have to try to figure out how to stop this bleeding, or maybe just let it keep flowing.
I have no strength to keep dating psychos for 3 more years or be told I can't be loved.
I can't keep this journal anymore. Thank you for having read it for this past year but this is over with, i'm done talking about the same things over and over and i'm tired of dating crazy women, or women who feel absolutely no attraction to me because I look deformed.
I want to clarify: this is not about not having love. This is about not having someone that I DO love. This is about the football being pulled away from Charlie Brown for the last time. This is not about a writing insecurity. This is about creating an empty tribute that means nothing to the one I meant it for, and the sorrow that comes whenever someone asks me if it was a true story and how it ended. LET ME SPELL THIS OUT SINCE NOBODY SEEMS TO UNDERSTAND THIS: IT IS NOT ABOUT WANTING "A GIRLFRIEND" IT IS ABOUT THE FACT THAT I AM IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE WHO INEVITABLY DOES NOT LOVE ME FOR THE 5,000000000000TH TIME.
I am weary, FUCKING weary, of not being the girl that gets taken home to your mom, but instead being the other girl that bangs on your bedroom window at 2am on the outside of the suburban house looking in. The shadowy, psychotic figure that boils your rabbit's head in your kitchen pot for love. At my core I am not a psycho, and I am not a warm, wet cavity to crawl into when the going gets rough. Being the here-and-there girl is not good enough, and it is neither here nor there.
And absolutely nothing has changed since I started this journal.
And if you ever, EVER think your lovelife is bad, just take a gander at mine. Because nobody in the entire world will ever love me. Nobody will ever get those butterflies when I come around, I am ugly and sick.
Good night.
The End.
VIEW 25 of 39 COMMENTS
desidia:
you're missed.
dave_h:
good to see you last night. 