I'm laughing at myself tonight.
Wondering how I could have been so blind as to think people were my friends. Wanted to be with me. I sing Better Be Home Soon and laugh again, realizing that nobody is coming home.
More than a stoic sense of apathy, I am angry. Furious. With myself, and with them. How dare they? How dare /I/? How could I have been so niave? How could they have been so cruel?
I hate that I have to keep going back. There was a time when I did it volunterily - when I kept returning because I believed they were good people. Now, I want to disappear. If I never saw another one of them again it would be too soon.
I have another eight weeks of hell. 66 hours in total of recesses and lunch times to survive. Beyond that, life looks peachy.
I'm over this shit.
I don't know how many loud conversations about how fun the weekend spent together was and what time they meet tonight I can take. I want to hurt them both; the first for rubbing salt in the wounds and the second for being so spineless that she can simply ignore the burning pain that I'm in. More than that, though, I want to hurt myself. The urge is constantly there, and I'm having to fight tooth and nail against it.
If these are the best years of my life, I'm fucked.
I've had enough. Want off of this ride right now.
Bess
Friends:
Clubs:












--
Meanwhile everyone wants to breathe and nobody can. Many say, We will breathe later.
And most of them dont die because they are already dead.
--
Stay connected.
Any way.
Anyhow.
--
--
Stay connected.
Any way.
Anyhow.
--
Practice Free Association Thinking, Meanings are beyond the obvious - Art Clokey
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