Scared Angry Bitch

I just noticed that my most recent posts usually end with a question.

As cliche as this sounds, I want answers.

I know where to find them but I just can’t bring myself to go to that place.

I’ve cried more this year than I have in the past three years.

I used to be strong.

And this statement keeps coming back but I know I can’t give up.

I mustn’t.

There’s suppose to be guilt in those two words but I can tell you truthfully that I don’t feel it. At all.

Nevertheless, I can’t tell you I don’t like you because it stabs me deeper when I do.

What happened to the foundation we built in the beginning?

How did it tear down so easily?

I know you’ll tell me that there’s still hope and you believe in us.

But I know you’re not truly happy just BEING with me.

Do I end this with a question?

We’ll see.

 

 

P.S. I read a blog where both K and S were in a relationship and they were sharing K’s blog (which was originally his, obviously). However when they broke up, S announced it bluntly that they’ve broken up. This is what she said.

Dear ***,

We’ve broken up but i’d like you to know that
i’ve no regrets knowing you

memories are great;very beautiful, however nothing compared to what the future holds. (yadiyadiya)

Love always, your friend.
***

You know what I thought about it. Maybe it’s true that S is a catty person. She looks like one anyway.

Yeah, I’ve changed. Fuck off.

Hold onto you

What do you do

When you’re no longer content?

When you thought after all this, everything will be fine and it’s not?

When you’ve changed?

When your friends have changed?

When it’s normal to cry at least three times a week?

What do you do?

Peanut butter sandwich

This is funny. Hilarious actually.

I did a few tests that rated my emotions.

It has been confirmed twice.

That I’m apparently depressed.

Well, what can I say?

What a beautiful awakening.

Unreasonable comparison

I’m gonna ignore you because of your association with that despicable what’s her face.

I might be the meanest person in the world because of all the names I create.

Because of the stereotypes I make of people.

But I could be worse with the things I’m capable of.

Maybe it’s just the delusions of grandeur that I have.

Since when did we come down to this?