- February 5th, 2011
It's started with a simple exchanging of words. Words confirming that you felt for me, in a way that I, secretly felt for you. Thanks to these words, I admitted how I felt. And everything was... great. I honestly felt that things were finally looking up for me. That is... until after day after day after day of holding hands, and talking into all hours of the night, of you making up dumb excuses to come into my class during your lunch to see me before being run off my Mr. Mills... you suddenly will not even acknowledge my existence.
You, for some odd reason, aren't riding my bus in the morning. You didn't text me for two days. You seemed to go out of your way to not even look at me at school. This sends me crying in the arms of my best friend before class, because this has always been one of my fears. THIS is why I actually ask said best friend (Morgan) for permission to sit with her on the bus, when... she gets angry if I DON'T sit with her. I am always TERRIFIED, deep down, that everyone is simply tolerating me. That no one actually thinks my jokes are funny, that in reality, I am the joke. That everyone merely pities me, puts up with me. It doesn't help that I recently got out of a, um, pretty dysfunctional relationship, that led to a disaster of a break up with a boy who, much like every boy I've dated, spent more time thinking about his hair and his clothes and his piercings and tattoos... than his actions and how they affect people.
A lot of shit is going at home, and a lot of shit that has nothing to do with you, and I'm pretty much incredibly emotionally raw at this point because of all the stress I've been under. So I cry, and I cry. My friend Chynna sees me in the hall and takes to the counselor who, upon seeing me, quickly signs me a late pass and a bathroom pass to get myself together. I ponder, vaguely, whether or not it will read "Reason for being late: Nervous breakdown / emo kid". So, I cry in the bathroom. I text you asking what the hell I did. No reply. I go to my first block, hand him my pass, and sit down at my desk. He removes everything from my desk... and sends me back to the bathroom, because apparently I looked like hell. At this point, you're not even on my mind. Which is good, because... you're kind of a dick. What's on my mind is that I have a leading role in the school musical, but I am terrified that I'm going to ruin it. That my family has no money and is in constant fear of being homeless. That my grades are slipping... and my only hope of going college, rests on getting a scholarship. That... I can't even function normally anymore without taking legal prescription drugs illegally, and that my recent drug test is probably a contributing factor to my current emotional state.
You text me back. You act as if nothing has happened. I find out from my ex-boyfriend, embarrassingly enough, that after all that has been said and done... you asked out some chick I've never even heard of. Now, it's not that the guy I liked asked out someone else, reaffirming all of my fears that I will never be able to appeal to anyone... it's that you lied to me about it, it's the fact that you toyed with me just for fun, and just because you like being liked. You went from being one of my best friends, to being my almost boyfriend, to being... someone I am never going to talk to again. As soon as I got home, on a day that was supposedly an early dismissal, yet felt like one of my longest days yet, and sent you a message on facebook simply entitled, "Could you do me a favor? Um, yeah. Never fucking talk to me, ever again." You reply and don't even bother trying to come up with an excuse, or even to apologize. You just say, in a nutshell, that you were gonna go out with me, but, y'know, you met this other chick and uh. You decided we should just stay friends. Cuz, you know. She's not like, a fat jew.
S'all good, have fun. But one day, this shit that you've done to me, that you've done to just about any girl in this school with a whole lotta daddy issues and not nearly enough self esteem? It's going to come back and get you. I don't know when or how, or even who. But it'll happen. Thanks for making me look like an idiot - just a side effect of you stroking your own ego, you pretentious prick. Have fun spending two hours every morning fixing your hair to get that perfect "I just rolled out of bed, I'm probably high right now, I don't really give a fuck." look. A+.