Warning: The contents of this post will lead you through the deep, dark, irrational thoughts of a girl who's been stop-seeing-each-other-ed.
Any and all indications that I was emotionally victimized are completely unfounded and it's unfounded for me to imply that at all. I indulged my ridiculousness and wallowed one last time so I could write a good essay about it. And that's where this came from.
::
I'm sad, I said I
wouldn't be, but I am. We said no strings attached, but the strings
snuck in! I had no idea what they were doing! I swear, I was
sleeping, and SOMEONE came in and tied my heart to yours.
And, unfortunately, like when you pull
apart a wishbone, I got the side that ripped. It hurts.
And I may have considered if ONLY for the briefest shadow of a second--
putting things on your Facebook wall insinuating that you are a woman-beater. I'm sorry! I'm sorry.
putting things on your Facebook wall insinuating that you are a woman-beater. I'm sorry! I'm sorry.
"yeah -- @ ___ (your name here)"
Then I found an ad on Craigslist looking
for a couple to play strip poker with. And I sent you the CL
link and say “we should just get back together to do this. Didn't you always want to have a threesome?” Just trying to
trap you with my awesome boobs and sexual liberty, rrRawr...
But it'll be ok.
I had a vision once, where I met Aziz
Ansari.
Soooo, yeah.
Soooo, yeah.
Trying to realize my potential with the two little lives mine is entwined with is confusing enough.
::
I used to put my boyfriends in boxes. I’d break up with them and put all of their little mementos: notes, things they’d made for me, things they’d given me as gifts, pictures everything, in a little shoebox, with their name on the outside in sharpie. Then I put all those boxes in another box.
It's a little serial-killer-y, you think?
Like when you think you're insane, you're definitely not insane. When you think you're a little serial-killer-y, you're definitely not a serial killer.
Oooooh--wait--not killing people serially is what makes you not a serial killer. I don't do that. So we're good there.
::
Anyway, the boxes are good. You can look at the boxes and be happy and know, "there are good things in there."
::
I used to put my boyfriends in boxes. I’d break up with them and put all of their little mementos: notes, things they’d made for me, things they’d given me as gifts, pictures everything, in a little shoebox, with their name on the outside in sharpie. Then I put all those boxes in another box.
It's a little serial-killer-y, you think?
Like when you think you're insane, you're definitely not insane. When you think you're a little serial-killer-y, you're definitely not a serial killer.
Oooooh--wait--not killing people serially is what makes you not a serial killer. I don't do that. So we're good there.
::
Anyway, the boxes are good. You can look at the boxes and be happy and know, "there are good things in there."
