by Noise Pollution
I feel pretty worthless right now. Yeah, big deal, right? All I ever write is melodramatic, self-indulgent bullshit like that anyway. Even my self-deprecation exposes my obvious narcissism and desperate need for approval. If I ever thought of anybody else, ever, I would spend more time bitching about them than I do myself. I know. I’m completely self aware of this.
Forgive me, I’m not in a great state of mind right now.
I accidentally stumbled across some old pictures of me and Nat just now. I had apparently at some point backed up my portable gaming device to my computer before we broke up. Before The Great Purge. Before I deleted and destroyed everything and anything that reminded me of her. So on a routine excursion through my hard drive I came across them. I deleted them, but not before wishing for something long gone. I looked happy in those pictures. I think I was happy. I’m not now. I haven’t been for a long time. And it’s not all because of the stupid breakup. I think I got sad about a year before we… ended things. I think me getting sad was why she left. It definitely made me sadder, though. It was awful to be reminded that it wasn’t all bad, something contrary to what I’ve had to keep telling myself in order to keep my lungs working right, to keep me breathing.
Suffice to say, I didn’t handle it well. I immediately went to the bathroom and puked. I stumbled around, searching for a dull razor somebody may have left out by accident. I didn’t find one. I didn’t get to harm myself the way I wanted to.
Maybe I should just refer to her as Gnat from now on. It’s rude, and I don’t cringe from typing it out. I kind of need to be rude. She can have as many excuses as she wants, but at the end of the day, she still destroyed my over-sensitive little heart. I’m allowed to be mad. I’m allowed to hate her. I have every right, don’t I?