It is so hard for everything inside me to be at odds with itself.

Everything I want and need and feel just loops me to another thing and that to another and right back again.

My mom told me to quit calling my friends because they would quit answering. They are sick of me. Sick of this. It's always been so clear to them. What have I become?

I am so ashamed of myself. Such a fool. Living a lie. I just wanted to be loved so bad, I guess. I would take this and believe it. The life it made was so lovely though. It felt real and good. The life I got to lead with it was all I wanted. But I guess I never really had it.

I am so sorry for putting everyone I know through so much. I am sorry it is such old news. That I had all my hope and happiness hitched to a figment. I am sorry I didn't know it was a figment. I should have, everyone is right. I should have known. I should have stopped. I have no one to blame but myself. I am so pathetic and sad and no one is fucking surprised.

But me.

I just believed that I was, indeed, loved. That someone could mean it that he wanted me. That I was worth waiting for, trouble for, worth...god I don't know.

Silly, silly me.

If I had been quieter, meeker, more private? More patient through this shit, less vocal? Would I still be loved? I can't help it. I tend to break on the outside, not just the in.

If I had been smaller? Artsier? Skinnier? Never moved? Would I be loved?

Or would I, as I ever was, just be...silly.

And I ache so bad that that life, that I loved and left and now must leave even further, will go one. Has gone on. Always will. Without one wrinkle without me. I was a blip, a pretty pock for one second in any life I touched. I am removable and nothing changes.

I want someone to rage for me. To mourn ME. To say, you are an unbelievable jerk and I reject YOU now because this kind of aggression against someone we love cannot stand. And I will never get it. It's petty and wrong. I want YOU to have some modicum of the humiliation I feel. To even TASTE the loneliness that this has brought on me. One that nobody in THIS situation can imagine but me. I know you have your own pain, I do. But I know without doubt it is assuaged nightly with the comfort of forgiveness from the person you want. Me? I have no comfort. My friends will all stop answering. And I will just doubt and hate myself alone. So fucking alone. It feels like you will never appreciate what you have done until you have seen it through other eyes. But you can't no one will ever do to you something like you have done.

I want you to feel pain other than the guilt that I know in my heart is fleeting faster and faster as your life just picks up where you put it down. Without me. It apparently was without me all along. I was window dressing. Just old decor you kept around for sentimental reasons. No one else saw why it was there, said put it out of it's misery, it is clearly incapable of helping itself.

Fuck fuck fuck. I disgust myself. I deserve all this pain for my disgusting, reprehensible, revolting self-pity, self-lies and desperation.

God I sicken me.