It's my personal blog and it's my personal stuff, so fuck off. (don't fuck off, but well... bear with me for a moment, okay? okay.)
I decided that I feel better after I write the shit out of my problem, so here it goes.
And even though hardly will you read it and even less probable that you'll care, but here it goes anyway.
Darling, you are an asshole.
And I don't blame you for that. Because if I were to believe the things I understand at this point (and this is a different level of adopting the information), it would be over. Right away, the moment I feel I am brave enough to blame you, it is over. And I wish that moment comes as soon as it can come.
But until that day comes, I don't know what should I do, and you are of no fucking help here.
Why?
Because you can't help even yourself. Can't sort your own shit out, can't hide things properly, can't keep to the shit you say and still childishly believe nothing you do is going to get back at you. Well I can never tell you how much I despise you sometimes. I do tell you so when we fight, but never enough. I start to pity you, start to hate myself for hurting your so-called feelings (ego?), all that crap. I bet you never get this feeling when you call me a bipolar crazy bitch who only knows how to scream for no reason and smash the fuck out of the doors when leaving for the 29th time in a month, huh.
I was ready to forgive you all this, but now I can't see anything else than a shameless liar. I was ready to forgive some of your lies at first, but I guess you felt too good about that so you forgot what the line is. You crossed it, and you've gone way too far away so I can't really remember how was it before anymore. The great times we had, all just faded in the presence of the constant fights, lies, misleading words, accusations, anxiety, and now these second-hand moral lessons that I receive almost every evening. And this is everything that we are about now, is it really something worth carrying on?
Anyway, now as I am getting my eyes opened little by little, at least I am sure -
no, I am not a bipolar crazy bitch, you made me so. You make me scream and smash the doors. It's not me who is just naturally inclined to do this kind of shit. You can't get me down any fucking more. No matter if our unfortunate relationship continues or not, I will not ever let you to get me down, I swear.
I am going to leave this here, I need an another reminder. That it was you who fucked it all up.
I decided that I feel better after I write the shit out of my problem, so here it goes.
And even though hardly will you read it and even less probable that you'll care, but here it goes anyway.
Darling, you are an asshole.
And I don't blame you for that. Because if I were to believe the things I understand at this point (and this is a different level of adopting the information), it would be over. Right away, the moment I feel I am brave enough to blame you, it is over. And I wish that moment comes as soon as it can come.
But until that day comes, I don't know what should I do, and you are of no fucking help here.
Why?
Because you can't help even yourself. Can't sort your own shit out, can't hide things properly, can't keep to the shit you say and still childishly believe nothing you do is going to get back at you. Well I can never tell you how much I despise you sometimes. I do tell you so when we fight, but never enough. I start to pity you, start to hate myself for hurting your so-called feelings (ego?), all that crap. I bet you never get this feeling when you call me a bipolar crazy bitch who only knows how to scream for no reason and smash the fuck out of the doors when leaving for the 29th time in a month, huh.
I was ready to forgive you all this, but now I can't see anything else than a shameless liar. I was ready to forgive some of your lies at first, but I guess you felt too good about that so you forgot what the line is. You crossed it, and you've gone way too far away so I can't really remember how was it before anymore. The great times we had, all just faded in the presence of the constant fights, lies, misleading words, accusations, anxiety, and now these second-hand moral lessons that I receive almost every evening. And this is everything that we are about now, is it really something worth carrying on?
Anyway, now as I am getting my eyes opened little by little, at least I am sure -
no, I am not a bipolar crazy bitch, you made me so. You make me scream and smash the doors. It's not me who is just naturally inclined to do this kind of shit. You can't get me down any fucking more. No matter if our unfortunate relationship continues or not, I will not ever let you to get me down, I swear.
I am going to leave this here, I need an another reminder. That it was you who fucked it all up.
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