(no subject)
Just looking at this username makes me sick. God knows why I forfeited thegirlhasgone to a person who doesn't even use the account. Don't judge a lj-ist by her name.
Jarrod and I for all intents and purposes, have broken up. Even though I know we were going in a bad direction, just to hear him say he wants "time away from me," has put me in a tailspin. I can't keep a single thought to myself, and while he's been occupying his time with other interests, I keep texting and calling him to express myself. It's like I have no control over it, I realize how disgraceful it is. The scariest part is, I remember doing this with Jeff. It wasn't really a breakup to devastate, yet just the fact that it wasn't me doing the cliff-pushing made me beserk. I feel like I am in the exact same place I was 2(3?) years ago. I'm not smooth, I can't play relationship games. I can only make it more and more apparent to the other person that I am a loser-psychopath. In this case, just like the last. The damage has been done. Even if there were hope of reconciliation, the emotional stalking has definitely given him cause for a mental restraining order. And I know that no one will ever see it the way I do. On any given subject, I could write pages and pages of my thoughts. And it's usually no taboo to disclose them. And now, when privacy and emotional lockdown are crucial, I've gutted myself to hang from a meat locker. Festering and welcoming any and all infections to delight in me as their host.
I behave like the most desperate person possible, and I know that I'm not. I know that I can be happy on my own, I had been for a long time. So why do I feel so miserable and alone? It's a serious problem. I had temper tantrums pretty much my entire adolescent life, and nothing's changed. I don't know why I can't just help myself and be unaffected by this trivial half-love disguising itself as the greatest loss of all time.
And I know I was just buying time, but I've run the race and now the track is gone. I want to burn my skin off by the scorching asphalt. Move to a new city. But that's what I've made a trend and I don't know why I can't just pick myself up to carry on the way that other people do. It's like, an unbearable thought to pick up where I left off because it's not where I wanted to be then and even worse now that I've had a glimpse of the beyond.
I wish it had never happened, I wish nothing would ever happen if it's not the ride to last a lifetime. God, what a waste. Guys can go on, lasso the next girl to be a notch on the belt and march through their egotistical, passionless conquests. And it's not even that I want that option for myself, it just infuriates me that two people in the same situation can respond in ways that so drastically differ. Even if we have to reach destination Doomsville, I want to be on the same road. He wouldn't understand a damned word that I've said. Foreign trail guide! It's comical but serious. I want to be on the same page with someone so that at least when things go sour they'll understand what is happening to me. Empathize.
Yet here I stand in the sequel to Megan Gets Dumped, with the only speaking role. I want an understudy. I want to collapse after the next heavy vegetable is hurled at the stage. Wrapped in the velvet curtain and sleep through to the next universe.
Jarrod and I for all intents and purposes, have broken up. Even though I know we were going in a bad direction, just to hear him say he wants "time away from me," has put me in a tailspin. I can't keep a single thought to myself, and while he's been occupying his time with other interests, I keep texting and calling him to express myself. It's like I have no control over it, I realize how disgraceful it is. The scariest part is, I remember doing this with Jeff. It wasn't really a breakup to devastate, yet just the fact that it wasn't me doing the cliff-pushing made me beserk. I feel like I am in the exact same place I was 2(3?) years ago. I'm not smooth, I can't play relationship games. I can only make it more and more apparent to the other person that I am a loser-psychopath. In this case, just like the last. The damage has been done. Even if there were hope of reconciliation, the emotional stalking has definitely given him cause for a mental restraining order. And I know that no one will ever see it the way I do. On any given subject, I could write pages and pages of my thoughts. And it's usually no taboo to disclose them. And now, when privacy and emotional lockdown are crucial, I've gutted myself to hang from a meat locker. Festering and welcoming any and all infections to delight in me as their host.
I behave like the most desperate person possible, and I know that I'm not. I know that I can be happy on my own, I had been for a long time. So why do I feel so miserable and alone? It's a serious problem. I had temper tantrums pretty much my entire adolescent life, and nothing's changed. I don't know why I can't just help myself and be unaffected by this trivial half-love disguising itself as the greatest loss of all time.
And I know I was just buying time, but I've run the race and now the track is gone. I want to burn my skin off by the scorching asphalt. Move to a new city. But that's what I've made a trend and I don't know why I can't just pick myself up to carry on the way that other people do. It's like, an unbearable thought to pick up where I left off because it's not where I wanted to be then and even worse now that I've had a glimpse of the beyond.
I wish it had never happened, I wish nothing would ever happen if it's not the ride to last a lifetime. God, what a waste. Guys can go on, lasso the next girl to be a notch on the belt and march through their egotistical, passionless conquests. And it's not even that I want that option for myself, it just infuriates me that two people in the same situation can respond in ways that so drastically differ. Even if we have to reach destination Doomsville, I want to be on the same road. He wouldn't understand a damned word that I've said. Foreign trail guide! It's comical but serious. I want to be on the same page with someone so that at least when things go sour they'll understand what is happening to me. Empathize.
Yet here I stand in the sequel to Megan Gets Dumped, with the only speaking role. I want an understudy. I want to collapse after the next heavy vegetable is hurled at the stage. Wrapped in the velvet curtain and sleep through to the next universe.