Funniest...shit...ever...
So, me and Sarah broke up. Can't say I'm surprised.
"I want to do my own thing." - Yeah, so do I.
"I love you." - If you did, then you would've at least had the balls to say it to my face, or over the phone.
You wanted to do our things on our own, and not tell the other details...then, you sit there and bitch & moan? Get pissed off at me for doing it? Get pissed 'cause I didn't do shit until AFTER YOU BROKE UP with me? I didn't break up with you, dear. You loaded the gun, you revolved the barrel, you pulled the trigger and hit the heart. I didn't do that shit. I went out of my way to make things as wonderful for you as possible. I was always there. Whenever you said, "Eric, come visit!", I did. I followed all your lil' rules. Sit there and point the finger at me...oh, I know you will. But, you know what? Fuck it.
Call me all the names you want. Yell, scream, piss and fight through it all. You brought it upon yourself. We weren't together from the moment you said "I'm breaking up with you." Temporary or not...what, I'm supposed to just sit back and witness you do all this shit? I bet you any fucking money if roles were reversed, you wouldn't see it as you did. You'd think you're in the clear...you didn't do anything wrong. But, god forbid, I do it...it makes me the terrible guy.
Sounds all too familiar...
Funniest thing is, you have to admit, things weren't all that bad. You had someone to love and care for and about you. I was there every time you were sick. I took care of you when you were vomiting nothing but your own stomach. Remember that...remember me being there? Yeah, I really proved to you that all guys are dicks, bitches, etc...
I remember when you were there for me, too. I remember when I got my job, you were the first one I called, and you were so excited for me. I'm not saying times were bad...but, seriously, you really started treating me like shit. It was almost always nothing but insults near the end. Everything I did was gay or retarded to you.
Blame it on depression. Blame it on whatever. You treated me pretty shitty at times, and I took it. I smiled through it all, for you. You called the shot, the ball was in your corner and you ran with it.
To this, I bid farewell. I'm through with this journal, and I'm through with this chapter.
Sarah, good bye. Contact me all you want. You told me to delete and block you...that you never wanted to talk to me again. I'll give you that. You'll never see me again, as you promised. Bi-polar isn't an excuse for the shit you said and did. You might've not done anything while we were together, but you can't for one fuckin minute tell me to my face (HAH!) that you wouldn't and won't while we were seperated. But, you know...it was me who did it, and not you, so it's my fault...I'm in the wrong even though you gave me clear permission.
To everyone who didn't decide to whore or fuck with my heart, emotions and shit...thank you.
My e-mail still works, I have a phone that texts and, OMG, calls. If you want to talk to me, you know how...you know where I live.
As my final good-bye, I love those who love me, and don't feel a thing anymore for those who want to blame me for the end, when it wasn't my fault...fuck you.
"I want to do my own thing." - Yeah, so do I.
"I love you." - If you did, then you would've at least had the balls to say it to my face, or over the phone.
You wanted to do our things on our own, and not tell the other details...then, you sit there and bitch & moan? Get pissed off at me for doing it? Get pissed 'cause I didn't do shit until AFTER YOU BROKE UP with me? I didn't break up with you, dear. You loaded the gun, you revolved the barrel, you pulled the trigger and hit the heart. I didn't do that shit. I went out of my way to make things as wonderful for you as possible. I was always there. Whenever you said, "Eric, come visit!", I did. I followed all your lil' rules. Sit there and point the finger at me...oh, I know you will. But, you know what? Fuck it.
Call me all the names you want. Yell, scream, piss and fight through it all. You brought it upon yourself. We weren't together from the moment you said "I'm breaking up with you." Temporary or not...what, I'm supposed to just sit back and witness you do all this shit? I bet you any fucking money if roles were reversed, you wouldn't see it as you did. You'd think you're in the clear...you didn't do anything wrong. But, god forbid, I do it...it makes me the terrible guy.
Sounds all too familiar...
Funniest thing is, you have to admit, things weren't all that bad. You had someone to love and care for and about you. I was there every time you were sick. I took care of you when you were vomiting nothing but your own stomach. Remember that...remember me being there? Yeah, I really proved to you that all guys are dicks, bitches, etc...
I remember when you were there for me, too. I remember when I got my job, you were the first one I called, and you were so excited for me. I'm not saying times were bad...but, seriously, you really started treating me like shit. It was almost always nothing but insults near the end. Everything I did was gay or retarded to you.
Blame it on depression. Blame it on whatever. You treated me pretty shitty at times, and I took it. I smiled through it all, for you. You called the shot, the ball was in your corner and you ran with it.
To this, I bid farewell. I'm through with this journal, and I'm through with this chapter.
Sarah, good bye. Contact me all you want. You told me to delete and block you...that you never wanted to talk to me again. I'll give you that. You'll never see me again, as you promised. Bi-polar isn't an excuse for the shit you said and did. You might've not done anything while we were together, but you can't for one fuckin minute tell me to my face (HAH!) that you wouldn't and won't while we were seperated. But, you know...it was me who did it, and not you, so it's my fault...I'm in the wrong even though you gave me clear permission.
To everyone who didn't decide to whore or fuck with my heart, emotions and shit...thank you.
My e-mail still works, I have a phone that texts and, OMG, calls. If you want to talk to me, you know how...you know where I live.
As my final good-bye, I love those who love me, and don't feel a thing anymore for those who want to blame me for the end, when it wasn't my fault...fuck you.