(no subject)
This is my first entry since the fifth of January, and I'm not even sure why I bother posting anyway, but these feelings have to be vented somewhere and what better place than livejournal? You all know how I was dumped. We all know I feel miserable. But there's so much more to the misery. I don't even know how to feel. There were times I was treated like utter shit: I was never called, I was frequently ignored, I was annoyed and teased, she spent more time with Michael or Victoria than with me, she found gay men more sexually appealing then us together, she never attempted to make time for me, she never really paid me any true compliments unless I was fishing for them... I should hate her. I should hate her for doing all this to me and leaving just at the moment when I thought everything was going to work out forever. I got bullshit reasons and pitiful excuses. I should be furious. But at the same time, I was no better. In fact, I treated her far worse. All the ways she mistreated me were just habits, normal functions that she wasn't cognizant of. And I didn't respect that. When she forgot a date she'd made with me, I would wallow in pity instead of reminding her. If she ignored me to talk with someone else, I would draw within myself instead of catching her attention or joining the conversation. I called her almost as little as she called me. I paid her almost as little compliments. I never brought up the idea of sex no matter how much I wanted that. And on top of that, I'm a selfish bastard. I can't even let her go on and be happy on her own, just because I can't be happy alone. I'm angry that she can still find time for friends, that she's not as sad as I am that we're not together anymore. That's selfish. I'm horrible, and that only makes the sadness worse, knowing that I'm truly the one to blame for everything. I brought all of this down upon me, just like I have in the past. But the others never mattered as much to me as she did. I can't even look at her, or be near her, or hear her voice, without being assaulted by a powerful pang of regret and grief. I wish I had done better by her. I wish I had treated her the way she deserves to be treated, instead my quiet and distant manner. She once asked me where I saw myself in my future. I answered with my realistic response, that I'd be working some dead-end job at Blockbuster or something, with a college degree but nothing to do with it. I would barely scrape by with my salary and would live that depressingly dreary day-to-day that so many of us (including me) fear so much. I would be unhappy. I never told her that I also knew I'd end up alone.