I want to hit things. I want to cry. I want to scream and throw stuff. I’m so angry. I don’t even know why I’m angry.
I wish you were here to hold me, like you did that night and I cried all over your shirt. But you’ll never do that again.
I’m so pissed. At the situation. At myself. At you. I think I’m just angry because I have so much emotion and no outlet.
I’ve spent so much time screaming, I’m exhausted. My room is trashed. My mind is trashed. Don’t even get me started on my heart.
I’m laying in a heap among the wreckage, and small puddles are forming around me. I didn’t know the human body could hold this much liquid.
And, I know you’re thinking this is so very dramatic, but you must remember that this is how I do things.
I was fine all yesterday. I sniffled a little bit. Sucked it up. Kept going.
I’m so angry. I just wanna punch you in the face. Three years of my life, you’ve been present in my mind and I expect to just push you out and get a move on.
I’m so stupid.
I’m just tired, I think.
I’m done. I can’t think about this anymore. I’m done.
Fuck.
