What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. Me.
I don't know why I just wrote all that. I sound so fucking pathetic it makes me want to puke all over myself.
I'm done crying. No fucking more.
I'm ready to be a ruthless bitch. No mercy. You take from me, I take from you.
Go to fucking hell, you bastard.
I could kill you. So easily right now. For making me like this.
You just lost the upper hand, baby.
11:51 am - 06.16.03
A heart is like glass. Dropped once, broken forever. And even if the pieces finally get put back together, it will never be the same.
My heart has been dropped so many times, it's become a fine spray of dust. Sand, stained with blood. The pieces no longer fit together, because there are no pieces. Just a faceless blob of tiny granules, each stripped of any hope it once had.
What's sad is that I'm used to this. Being crushed has become a familiarity. I've come to expect it.
Exasperated, I told him I was through being mad. Over it. Done. Moving on now. But did he accept it? No. Of course not. He has to make me look like it was all my fault.
I don't do anything right, nothing I say is good enough. I go out of my way to be at his work when he gets off, only to sit there for an hour with no sign of him. So I leave a note on his truck. "Please call me."
Does he?
Hell no. What, and ruin his little wounded puppy act? He'll milk this for all it's worth.
It's obvious that I'm the victim. But he doesn't see my suffering. Only a nuisance, an annoyance. Stalking him, closing in on his space. He wants to swat me like a fly, cease my buzzing nonsense.
I'd say I'm done with the bullshit. But he knows better than that. He's figured out that he can have me any time he wants. All he has to do is say the word, and I'm his. But only when he feels like it.
My feelings are mud, scraped off the soles of his shoes in haste.
I'm at the bottom of the list. Dangling. In danger of being dropped off entirely at any given moment. One wrong word, a single unsatisfactory remark, and I'm gone.
It's like walking on eggshells, and the eggshells are our future. If one small part is crushed, the rest will collapse right along with it.
And it shouldn't have to be this way.
But I let it.
Because I'm too weak to let go.
10:57 am - 06.16.03
You know, sometimes it comes to the point where you just want to stop being mad and get over it, because doing anything else just takes too much effort.
12:38 pm - 06.15.03
He finally called. At 10:36pm, to be exact.
I should have just let it ring. I was doing so well. I spent my day bashing him, calling him names, getting it out of my system. I hadn't cried all day. I was strong, fearless, untouchable.
Until I saw his name on the caller ID. That's all it took to send my strength flying under the door and out into oblivion. Of course I'd answer it. I always do.
He doesn't think he did anything wrong. "Even married guys do it. It was just for fun."
Nevermind that it made me feel inadequate, unwanted, unneeded. About two millimeters tall. Unattractive.
But he's moving tomorrow, he says. It doesn't matter, because today was his last day with them.
And I'm just supposed to wash it from my memory, pretend nothing ever happened. If I get mad, it's my own fault.
I can't even think straight to write. The words are there, begging to be released, but there's a glass wall blocking them. Just like me, they can see their destination, feel it, taste it. But they have no way to get to it. Their attempts are to no avail; they will always fail.
But they'll keep trying, again and again, until it kills them. Or worse.
Because going through this hurts so much more than dying.
But of course, "I love you" was exchanged.
Of course.
11:21 pm - 06.14.03
I hate myself right now.
I let it happen to me again.
I should be mad at him, really. I should hate him. But I don't. Because I'm the one who was too ignorant and lovesick to realize that nothing has changed.
Yesterday was supposed to be moving day. He had called me at 1am, told me that he had his things packed and would leave as soon as Dustin left for work. He thought they would be mad to know he was leaving, since he was a source of income for them.
So, all day I waited. Waited to hear from him, waited for him to call secretly from his parents' house, or even from a pay phone, and say he was settled. The phone call never came.
At first, I didn't think much of it. He had a substantial amount of stuff, and living 45 minutes away, it might take a couple of trips to move it all. It was an all-day job. So I didn't worry. I figured he would call when he could, and I went to bed. Unassuming.
The phone rang around 3:30am. My boyfriend, a drunken bastard, still at the same place he'd been the last time I talked to him. He was in one of those moods again. The kind that's so different from the normal him that I can hardly call it a mood. It's more of a split personality. He didn't seem to think that I'd care to know his whereabouts all day. And he didn't think I'd care that he'd been at a fucking titty bar all night.
Sure, Cliff. Go ahead. Go with your white trash friends to the strip club and let the STD-ridden sluts dangle their saggy boobs in your face. Why would I care? I'm only your girlfriend, after all.
And of course it didn't ease my anger any when Lisa, his friend's girlfriend, came on the phone screeching, "He was at the titty bar! Hahaha! I just have to rub it in!" I said nothing. "Don't worry, I let my boyfriend go too."
She kept trying to talk to me, but I remained silent. I had plenty to say to her, but couldn't let myself lower to her level. I'm more mature than that, more sophisticated. She'll get hers.
The people Cliff lives with, Lisa and Dustin, are about the equivalent of the moldy cheese potatoes I found under my brother's bed last week. Neither graduated high school, and a GED is definately out of the question. Lisa doesn't work, and Dustin mooches off his uncle. Inheritance from his father's death, Cliff says.
The two of them have disliked me from the beginning, obviously because they can't begin to comprehend how far ahead of them I am. Lisa is insanely jealous of me, and will jump at any opportuinity to piss me off or laugh at my bad fortune.
I hate it that he lives there. They're trash. They're alcoholics, potheads, low lifes. And what's worse, they have a baby living there as well. Paige. She's around 18 months, give or take. It's sad; I can hardly bare to look at her when I'm there. They feed her cold hot dogs for every meal, and get wasted every night with her crying for a diaper change.
Now, as far as I'm concerned, he's one of them. He's got a one-way ticket to nowhere. This isn't the first time he's put them before me. He's fucking trash, just like them.
I've done everything in my power to help him. I drive up there to visit him so he doesn't have to waste gas. I cook him dinner so he doesn't waste his money on food. I fucking loan him money, and don't make him pay me back. But he refuses to help himself.
He was supposed to move out so he could save money to be with me. I don't think he's doing that any more. At least, that's what I could gather from his mumbles and slurs.
He ended the conversation abruptly, with a "Hold on a second....click." He hung up on me. And never called back.
At least I don't cry for him any more. There are no tears left with his name floating in their centers. I stay stone-faced, apathetic. That's what I want him to see. Because it hurts too much to let him think that I really care, when he so obviously doesn't.
I hate those fucking assholes. As far as I'm concerned, they took him away from me. If it weren't for them, he'd get things together. I'm so angry at this point, I'd do almost anything to give them a potent dose of reality.
I think I've decided what I'm going to do. On Monday, I'll call child protective services. I've witnessed enough to report them for neglect. The baby crying in a piss soaked diaper while they're passed out on the couch. The baby running around with a cigarette lighter. The baby making her way out the front door with no one noticing. The baby inhaling pot fumes and God knows what else. And while they're at it, they can get Dustin for providing alcohol to a minor. Lisa's only 19.
I don't care if it's vicious, malicious, and heartless. They took him away from me. So I'm taking something away from them. Even if CPS doesn't do anything but pay a visit to their house, it'll be sweet enough. I'll be sure they know who let the cat out of the bag.
I don't know what to do now. I called Cliff's work, and he was a no-call, no-show today. As expected. I've contemplated going out with someone else tonight, out of spite. But I'm not in the mood. At all. I don't know what to do with myself... I drove about four circles around town before giving up and coming home.
He thinks I'm overreacting. And maybe I am. After all, it's just a titty bar. Just harmless fun. Right?
No. It's not. Because it hurt me.
And I brought it all upon myself, by letting him back in, by thinking he was different.
By thinking he really cared.
Wrong again, Alicia. Wrong again.
2:51 pm - 06.14.03
Recent entries:
I'm not Allyson! - 07.09.03
- - 06.24.03
a new chapter - 06.23.03
the end of the non-existent beginning - 06.23.03
just when I thought it was over... - 06.22.03
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