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I love myself better than you, I know it's wrong but what can I do?
07.17.2004 | 8:11 pm I could be all sappy and dramatic about this ... and I probably will be, but I'm gonna try really hard not to be. So, the eternity that is Miranda and Justin has ended, which means, we broke up. I don't know why. It was sort of a mutual decision, but more so him than me. I tried damn hard to keep myself together and not cry and not let it bother me. I think I held it together fairly well too, except the few times I broke down crying and saying how pathetic I was. Well, it's over. I'm back to the lonliness. I guess this is what it feels like to have your heartbroken and then glued back together and then fucking stomped on until it can't be put back together. Not to be emo, but that's my honest description, because he just keeps me hanging on all the time and I just do it, without objection. I'm just afraid of being alone, I guess. Oh well. there isn't really much I can do. Just sit around feeling sorry for myself I called him about 45 minutes ago. Not to be all sentimental and beg for him to take me back, no, I just want my guitar back. And my Green Day cd. And I want to give him all his stuff back. CD's. Shirts. Boxers. But most of all, I want my ring back. I convinced my parents to let me have someone over. It didn't really take that much convincing when you're bawling your eyes out though. Plus, my mom knows how I handle things like this. Badly, of course. So, Shaunna's coming over. To comfort me. Get my mind off of it. And if she pleases, please me, since I'm single. I actually wouldn't do that. I'm not in a very great mood. I do need a cigarette. Or about 3 packs, to be exact. It's so odd how my cigarettes disappear when I'm going through some weird life crisis. This isn't a life crisis, but I do feel goshdarned bad. I want two bottles of vodka, 4 packs of Newports, and a copy of Suburbia and Reality Bytes to watch over and over until I puke. Sure, I sound melodramatic and not too caring about this, but it's Miranda's way to not take things so seriously. It's hard not to take things seriously when your eyes are stinging from crying for 3 hours, but hey, I'm good. I'm great. I do care. I care a lot, but what good is it doing me? None. It's just making me fel bad, while he's probably feeling up some girl in the back of her car. So is life. My life, anyway. It's the inevitable. The end. And probably the beginning of a plethora of teenage angst lyrics and self-destructive behavior. Wee. I've been listening to a lot of Nirvana lately. All hail Nirvana. No? Okay. |
