I was actually looking forward to this.
You know, the inevitable heartbreak.
Strangely, I love being sad. I love crying. I love listening to the dismal love songs, I love how sadness arouses such creativity in me. I love wallowing in self-pity.
But this.
This is different.
I’m sick to my stomach. Instead of feeling that glorious urge to cry, I feel an urge to vomit.
I cannot draw. I cannot write.
The love songs irritate me.
I cannot cry; I’ve tried numerous times, but not a tear will fall.
I’m manic. I’m tense.
I want to scream.
You lied to me. I don’t trust you.
What else have you lied to me about? I can’t believe how much of me I gave you…
You made me fall for you. It was so naive of me to think that you were different… I thought you were so unique, I thought you were special…
It’s funny how mere months ago I stared incredulously at posts like these. It’s funny the impatience I had for my best friend’s break-up drama, because I simply didn’t understand why her ex’s betrayal meant so much to her. It’s funny how I said that I’d never let myself be affected by situations like these, because I have a “realistic” mind and I waved away the teenage sentiment that it “would be the end of the world” if this happened.
It’s funny, it’s really fucking funny how much of an idiot I am…
Oh! Incidentally, my OCD has been getting worse recently.
I guess this means that I’m in for one hell of a time for the rest of the summer.
