Or the account of my decline into barbarism (and all of the lovely, mad people who helped me do it).

Monday, March 29, 2010


I've arrived at the anger stage of my grieving process. I'm angry because he's sharing experiences with other girls, and I'm not welcome anymore. Angry because he hasn't called. Angry because two humans can coddle and love and days later, they aren't speaking. They're just a figment of a shared past. And I'm angry at people for asking about it. And for not asking about it. Angry at myself for still crying, for checking his Facebook, for losing my sense of self-worth, for not feeling beautiful anymore. Most of all, I hate that I got my heart broken. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't, I swear.

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