We went for a walk, my therapist and I. It was nice, out in the sunshine—what little there was. I feel like I’m living little flits of life between blocks of appointments and traveling. I’m gone all the time, it seems. Hours of staring out into white snow on the mountaintops, and then down into the valley in a sea of trees, and it seems like forever.  The time alone is good, but there is never enough. Too much talking, I think.

I don’t stay with my friend anymore, I stay with my godparents. It’s farther away and has its own share of drama and intrigue. Although, if we’re being honest, I consider those things to be annoying inconveniences at this point. I’m bored, but not so much so that it dulls everything, but enough to mean that I stare at my phone more often than not.

I’ve been avoiding the dramatic, though I’ve been angry and yelling at strangers, exploding at the slightest provocation and sending them scattering. My flare ups seem to happen most often in parking lots and with particularly stupid professionals incapable of performing the most menial of tasks. I feel like some sort of advanced species that been tossed in with the shit-flinging, finger-and-testicle-mauling apes. It’s a constant shit show and I’m thrust into it no matter where I am, it would seem.

The truth is, I just want the quiet. And permission from myself to throw plates and kick doors like a tantrum-throwing child because I’m pissed off and completely fed up with everyone else’s shit.


That abandoning ship thing from before…

Yeah, it happening. My tolerance is kind of amazing sometimes. Maybe it’s just because I’ve had to put up with so much bullshit, that mildly crazy isn’t so bad. I mean, it’s totally normal  for your friend to take their car door and bash it into the side of the car next to them because your friend is insane and thinks they parked too close. That’s average human behavior right? Or your friend talking about how they wish we would get into a terrible wreck so we could have more trauma to to relay to our therapist, that’s not super manipulative and fucked up or anything. Or lying to your supposed “best friend” and saying that your boyfriend wants her to leave, when really you’re just a coward and don’t want your boyfriend to be upset with you because you left the house for a few hours. Huh.

So yeah, you could say I accept it now. The craziness, I mean. She went from mildly annoying to full blown BPD bitch with all the trimmings. She talks about us getting married and having boyfriends on the side, like it’s something that’s going to happen someday. Or moving into a house together. Even though she’s honestly reaching Bellatrix Lestrange levels of batshit crazy. That’s fine. We’ll just gloss over it with some nice paint.

Then week before last, she made up this story about her boyfriend having nightmares about her and I moving in together because I got money. So because he was so distraught, he needed to start sleeping in bed with her again instead of on the couch.

The whole situation is also beyond inconvenient. But I’ve already decided I’m no longer taking an active role in it. Fuck it. Let it burn down. I’ve decided I’m going to be greatly inconvenienced, because that is much more preferable to whatever the fuck was going on before.


I think i probably spend too much time alone. It’s easier though than having to bother with others. And the truth is, my tolerance has become intolerant. I find myself grinding my teeth every time someone else speaks. They ruin a silence, the gap in conversation where my brain can sort things into some kind of cohesive mess that’s slightly more appealing and understandable.

My friend interrupts me now. Every time I pick up my phone to text, she immediately flings a bunch of questions my direction so I can’t type without long pauses. She’s jealous, I suppose. It’s strange to see. I tire of her attention seeking. She mentioned recently that she hoped we would crash into the bottom of the ravine while we were driving. She said that at least that way we would have more trauma to talk to with our therapist. I’m not sure what to say to that, not even now. And at the time, I said nothing.

She’s slipping further and further into her lies and I watch with lackluster interest. I told our therapist that I was sick of her constant stories with their changes. Every week it’s the same story with altered details, precariously placed in some kind of effort to intrigue me. She has told me she fears getting boring to me. She’s been listening to different music and constantly makes jokes about how “when we’re married” or “when we’re rich”, we’re gonna do _______. I’m not even sure where to go with it. I’ve discouraged her, but it makes little difference.

Then she told me the other day that she wanted me to tell her what I remembered from her doctor’s visit the other day because she “sometimes gets ideas and then thinks of them as part of the memory/story”. In other words, she knowingly lies.

This sudden insight into her own behavior is peculiar; she tends toward ignorance, willful and not. She’s never been particularly self-aware, if anything she has a strong proclivity for bragging and exaggeration. It just so happens that the previous week, I had a conversation with our therapist about her lying, then of course she suddenly says this.

I know for a fact that he (therapist) uses my words for her therapy. She has told me things he’s told her, and I have to stifle a laugh when I realize he’s feeding her my concerns. This should maybe be a warning sign of his untrustworthiness, but somehow I appreciate it. It’s been making my life easier.

I’ve grown tired of company. My current situation is frustrating at times. I find myself away more often than not. I go off by myself for hours and I don’t look back.

omitted truths

It’s weird to think that everything you do impacts other people. I could take on guilt, I suppose, but I’m not sure what good it would do. Mainly I just feel apathy. My friend and her boyfriend are still struggling to come to some sort of truce, wherein there’s just enough trust for the relationship to be salvaged. If it even can be… I’m not incredibly concerned either way, but I think back to before I told her and wonder how long it would have taken if I had held my cards instead of going all in.

I wonder too, if I’m just damaged. I don’t know how to have normal conversations with others. It becomes personal quickly, and even sexual, and I think it’s probably easy to misinterpret. Although I am not feeling sexual feelings at the time, I enjoy talking about it. There’s an element of the forbidden to it. And that all makes sense given the context of my past. You get attention if you talk about sex, and sometimes you get to talk about it with people you want to have sex with—all the better, right?

So even when I’m not sexually interested in someone, conversations can still take a turn. And with my friend being so open about everything and expecting her boyfriend to be the same, it’s not really surprising that he mistook anything spoken about. I made it clear I had no interest in him, but that seemed to have no effect.

I suppose when you have a dick and not much else to think with, it makes you a little stupid. It’s not that I absolve him of his sins; quite the contrary, I hate his guts. I think he’s a useless waste of space that needs to take showers without prompting and stop being disgusting about literally everything, but that’s just my opinion. I know she loves him and thinks he’s smart, so I tolerate it and just nod. Really, it’s better for her if they stay together, even if he is a piece of human garbage who can’t peel himself off the couch. She needs support, and I’m way too up my own ass to offer it to any useful degree.

I sound like an asshole. It’s true. I know I’m better than he is and I’m tired of his meddling. She convinced herself  (and he went along with it for obvious reasons), that he did all of it out of jealousy, trying to get me to leave so he could have her to himself. I’m laughing as I’m typing this. Whatever helps everyone sleep at night.

And I’m trying to wrap my head around how she could be convinced that her boyfriend hitting on her friend would be a good tactic that he would pursue, particularly when she was GPS tracking his car for long periods of time and monitoring his phone, and constantly questioning where he had been. He would have to be completely ass-backwards dumb to think that doing anything that even resembled cheating would be a good idea.

He was thinking with his dick. Just so you know. I know you want to think he’s better than that and cares about you to the point that he would alienate you from everyone (which, admittedly he has), but never did he do it in a way that would jeopardize his relationship. So yeah, this is me telling you that your boyfriend would have cheated on you first chance he got. And still will, I’d bet anything. Get some girl in there to talk about his feelings, and he’ll magically end up between her legs. Maybe not even that much effort from the female.

I’m sorry. The truth hurts. It’s shit. People are shit. And the only reason I haven’t told you any of this is because I want you to still have some hope that there are decent human beings in the world that can give a shit about you and not betray you at every turn.

Think of it as an omitted truth, omitted for the sake of your sanity and wishful thinking.

I know you want to fuck our therapist, and if I’m honest, I do too, but the hero worshipping is over. He’s just a man, not even a particularly interesting one. It’s the lack of context that makes him seem mysterious. And you putting in the level of trust that you are with all of your extreme emotions…does not bode well for you.

He’s not your friend, I’m sorry to say. And I can hear his lies when you tell me what he’s said. He can’t be trusted. He’s a liar too, like all the others. I’m not sure why you don’t see it. But if he goes too far, I’ll back him into a corner, just like your boyfriend, just like anyone who was stupid enough to stand in my way and think that they could get away unscathed. I’m tired of lies and omitted truths; I’d rather live in reality. It’s harder here, but I’ve survived my father and I will survive everything else, provided I don’t off myself first. Because the reality is: nothing will ever be that bad. That was the worst it could get.

Watch me eat my words.

Bury it in the sea

I went to see her today because I felt like it was time. To keep people for use, you must indulge them. I didn’t hate it like I thought I would. It was alright. I’ve avoided seeing her multiple times, to the point that she was calling my boyfriend to ask me if he knew whether or not I was angry or hated her. 

I’m not angry. I don’t hate all that much. I just don’t care. I don’t care to be a part of their world anymore and I only did it today because I was hungry and had a snake to show off. I’d rather spend time with my animals than bother with anyone anymore. What good are people but as tools to be used and garbage to take out and eventually throw away? 

Such a waste, everything I do. Wasted effort on ingrates, for causes I don’t believe in and a curiosity that no longer exists. I don’t even care for their reactions any longer. It was funny before, and now it’s nothing more than statistical bullshit. I know what you’ll do, and on the off chance that I don’t?

It doesn’t matter what you do because I don’t fucking care. If you can live your lie, I can live mine. And I can live it far enough away that I won’t be able to see you anymore.

You’re thinking of moving away? Good. You do that. Don’t expect sympathy from me. You go from treating me like I’m your toy to suddenly acting like you give a fuck. You should have known from my previous backstabbing that I don’t take kindly to leashes. I chew them off and then I take your arm. The whole fucking thing. 

But whatever. I don’t care. I have a place now, a sea, and I’ve decided that in it I shall throw all the things I don’t like. They will wash up on the shore at first, but give me some time, and one day they will be lost so deep that they won’t ever come back. 

Through time

I came across an old email today. It’s strange to look back at who I was then and who I am now. I have to ask myself if we really are so different as I pretend. We were the same once, weren’t we? The direction my life took does not pain me, however the way I dealt with it does. It disgusts me to think what a desperate, lost soul I can be, clawing to the one thing I believe made a difference.

How could you not see it what what was drowning you, I wonder?

I can only hope I have become vacant enough to handle such an encounter again. I lost myself, I lost what I wanted to be, and thought that someone else could live it for me. But the truth is, we are all alone, no matter what they might say. I am the only one who will shoulder the weight of my own burdens, and when I stumble and fall, there will only ever be my own willpower to get me to rise again. I expect you to spit in my face and laugh, or run away scared; I’ve see it all, sweetheart.

I’m smiling now. In the end, is that so truly terrible to be abandoned? What should a monster really expect?

If I saw you again, I think I might discover that I still love you. But that love, ah, what a thing it is now. Is love what makes me want to rip out your heart through your chest and eat it? Oh god, and I would.

I’d love to hear you scream. You think me sick now, I wonder? But I think you already did. So I thank you, I thank you for taking the worst part of me and making it so obvious, because without you, I’d have never been able to get to it. I’ve cut it out, you know, burned at it, ripped at it with my fingernails. I’ve drank it away, I’ve starved it away, and now it’s this shriveled vile thing, so perfect for the rest of me. I was never good enough, and now it’s all not good enough. And you know what? That’s just how I like it.

I will never be good. I’ll always be the child to you, the one you found so petty. But I see now what I could not see then. With all your so-called righteousness, I never thought to look deep, but I see now what you didn’t want me to see. And god, aren’t we so ugly on the inside?

And now I’m laughing. So goodbye my sweet friend. I’ve decided I am through with you, for good. You were my hardest lesson, and I am sorry to disappoint, but I am still here.

Oh, and motherfucker? I’m not leaving until I’m done.

The burdens of others

I don’t have empathy; let’s be really clear here. I don’t know if I burned it out, used it up, or simply have learned to bypass it. But now, now… I have to claw for scraps of memory, of what to say, how to behave. And each time I reach for those broken little pieces, I find myself caring to conceal my condition less and less. 

So yes, that’s right. I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if your world is crashing down around you. I don’t care about your human wants and desires. It doesn’t sadden me when you’ve been betrayed, or the fact that that betrayal hurt you. Life is hard, as they say. People fuck other people, want other people, and are generally not of the monogamous sort. Why does that surprise you? Why are you foolish enough to expect loyalty, from anyone, even me? Do you think I can just conjure the feelings for you?

I don’t know what happened to me. Something snapped. Then it all fell away like a curtain, and I was left at that open window. You see, when there is no veil, you can see reality, but inversely it can also see you. I can’t hide as you can. I can’t run from what is right before my eyes. I can close them, picture something different, but I know that at some point I will wake again, and there it will be, that open expanse out that window. I won’t live in fear. 

You don’t know how lucky you are, that even with your protective, pathetic little barrier, how nice it is to have that curtain always there. Whatever you want can be behind it. You can make that world whatever you want, don’t you see? You’re so afraid, and it makes me pity you. You shy away like a beaten dog rather than rising to the fore, strong and unyielding.

Bite the hand that strikes you. Lash out at the ones who taunt you. What are you so fucking afraid of? You need those people, the friends you claim you can live without. You are not whole without them, and that is plain enough for all to see. You can run away and shut them out, but you can’t resist for long. Yes, they will hurt you, that is true. But what does it matter? Cut them out like a cancer when they pain you. I am half your age and even I know this. Use them for the pleasure they give you, then throw them away. Trust me, they won’t even be fazed. You’re too sensitive, too weak to see that the problem wasn’t them: it’s you. You give them all and get nothing, but fail to see it. You think I haven’t done the same? But now, now I know. You give nothing. Give nothing of yourself, and take every fucking scrap they have to offer, even that which they don’t hand over freely. You’ll get the companionship you clearly need without the hassle. 

I supposed I should retell you these things, since you clearly don’t comprehend yet. You will. Otherwise you will be her: your mother. The one you always say was so bitter at the end, and so destroyed. You are becoming her, can’t you see? I can, even if you can’t. Your blindness is baffling to me. 

This is it. You have your chance to carry on, to live that normal human life that is so befitting of you. Stop hesitating, stop questioning, and just do it. Just fucking do it. Get up, take charge and stop hiding in the corner, or this life is just going to eat you alive.