you know, i never thought i’d say this, but i hate you.
i really really really hate you. i’ve been thinking and there’s nothing, not one thing i should be thankful for from you, nothing i would reminsce and say wow that one really good thing you did totally makes up for all the crap you made me put up with. nothing. you’re the sickest person i’ve ever met, that has the guts to lie to my face thinking that i’ll never find out about anything, but i do find about things–i’m not as oblivious as, oh let’s say, you are. who the hell steals someone else’s ex? so what if it wasn’t official, you knew every single fucking thing that went on, how much he hurt me, how much he meant to me, how we meant the world to each other at one point and you think its all right to take you and your army of cousins to step in and ruin everything. if it weren’t for you, we’d be fine. i’d be fine. i wouldn’t be worrying about what you two might be doing next, i wouldn’t be worrying about how truthful the last three lines you IMed to me were. when i’m in tears and in shambles, i should be able to turn to you and ask for comfort, for help, not be scared that you’ll expose everything about me in a matter of seconds and have you just turn right around and tell me how shitty of a life you have. i dont need to be trampled on by you just because you have a psychotic family (you’re included in that) and i don’t need to try to dig up words of sympathy that you just completely twist around then try to make me seem evil as anything. i don’t need try three times as hard to win back a guy that was mine in the first place because you pulled some snazzy trick out of your ass to woo him when i wasn’t there. yes, i did confide in you at times of desperate measure, but who knew you would threaten to use that against me? and since when coudl you tell me who i can or cannot hang out with? if you dont’ care enough to adhere to promises you make with me, recognize me and treat me even as a plain acquaintance, why should i even bother dealing with anything you hand over? i don’t need you diagnosing yourself with mental illnesses everytime i ask you a question or talk to you; i don’t want to hear your bipolar accusations or rantings when none of it is true. do you know how outrageous your paranoid statements are? you send at least a chain of five people in a whirlwind, fighting then clarifying everything and every conversation ends with “so she lied.” tell the truth. i don’t lie about people asking me out, i don’t lie about my relationships with people, i don’t lie about things i’ve done, and i’m not scared about what people think about my truths. your lies may boost you up this disgusting social ladder, and since you have no conscience, i hope you enjoy it. i don’t want to hear your bullshit anymore, about your humble braggings about how everyone thinks you’re pretty about how upset you are that so-and-so is so obsessed about you–you think i’m dramatic? take a look at yourself, honey. your life is not a teen chick flick, not a romance novel, not a foreign drama that won a Grammy award. live your own life instead of trying to make one up. truth is beauty, you dipshit, and as pretty of a face as you might have, you have no beauty.
