An Update on Being Fucked

I’m MAYBE not so fucked anymore, and my parents cooled off. So I guess I’m heading to BumFuck, Kentucky again. …yay.

I got out of my mess by… crying. A lot of fucking crying.

Being hopeful helped too. It seemed like I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I’m glad there’s a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Doesn’t feel like I’m playing this awful game:

I Fucked Up

As the title states, I fucked up.

I’ve been cut off by my family and I’m wondering if I should fight the good fight or fucking welcome the nuclear blast with open arms. I’ll get a fabulous tan before I’m incinerated, my shadow imprinted into the side of a building.

I’ve been uninvited to Christmas with my family, so I imagine I’ll spend Christmas Eve on top of the water tower by myself. Contemplate how badly it’ll hurt to fall from a height of 150 ft. Maybe I’ll bring up a Sharpie to figure out how fast and how quickly I’ll hit the pavement below with the frivolous lessons I learned in physics. A closed casket funeral a few days later. Shovel up my goop into a pine box, throw it into a hole with nothing but the gravedigger and parson as witnesses. The man of God might say some empty words about how no one should grieve for me for God cares. What a load of cock and bull. Maybe no one will go to work or school so my body will rot for a few days. Food for the ravens. Funny. I used to feed them sandwich meat on the weekends. Now I’ll be feeding them my entrails. Consider it my final gift and meal, my nightmares with wings.

All this shit has made me realize that I’m a hopeful person. Maybe things aren’t so bad. Perhaps this is the test, the crucible that’ll mould me into a better person.

That’s wishful thinking. I’m just a coward of what is to come and I can’t move forward until something gives me a swift kick in the ass. 


Abe’s Perspective 

I just spoke with my kid brother, Abe

I feel a lot better. He put shit into perspective for me.

I told him how I was a bad person for seeing a nice guy when I’m still sorta hung up on someone. 

It’s good that you’re not just pining after Michael. You’re not sad just because he’s not here. You’ve got some introspection going and you’re looking at how your actions are affecting other people. If you need time for yourself, like you need some isolation time, that’s not a bad thing to ask for.

And that’s what made me snap out of the funk. 

Michael said he needed to figure out his life, take time for himself. And that’s not a bad thing. What’s bad is my crying over being left behind. He needs to take care of himself because no one else will. 

I feel ashamed for wanting him to talk with me when he’s probably working hard to better himself. He doesn’t need distractions.

As for this new, nice guy… If he’s really a good person, he won’t be upset if you take some time for yourself. 

I want to be a good person. I’ll try not to be too upset.

Please, Leave Me

I’ve been in a funk all day, and I figured out why after some careful pondering. It’s been a year since I first started talking to Michael. And now he’s gone.

I had a dream about him a couple days ago. I saw him at a bar on a date with one of my classmates. It hurt. I thought I was over all that. He was smiling, and that made me happy, but when I woke up, I was… broken all over again.

I’d bleed a good amount of blood just to have him text a “hey.” to me… I can’t help but think that he’s silent because he really is happy with someone else. There’d be no point in speaking with me. I’m just a thing of the past.

And people always say it’s best to not dig up the past.

I want to get into a fight so I can make someone else hurt just as much as I do. Or maybe I want someone to beat me just so I can feel tangible pain. Maybe I’d focus on that instead of this nasty sensation in my chest. It’s hard to keep down food and it feels like I could shrug off my shoulders if someone shook me hard enough.

I want an axe murderer to tear me limb from limb. When he opened up my chest cavity, he’d find my heart shredded like pulled pork. Perhaps he’d shed a tear for me. I wouldn’t want him to cry on my behalf. I’d hope he’d smile knowing he set me free.

I wish I hadn’t gotten so attached. I should’ve kept him at a distance. I didn’t see the full picture; I thought that maybe he liked me, that maybe I wasn’t some play thing to be thrown aside once its initial sparkle had faded.

No point in being sad, Jess. It already happened. Grow stronger and carry this burden. 

If it were that simple I would’ve pushed him far from my mind already. Asshole.

I’m spending more time with a nice guy. He’s the sweetheart every girl wishes for but always passes without a second glance.

And he reminds me so much of Michael.

We ate pizza and watched Rick and Morty last night. I nearly called him Michael. I felt rotten. I started to cry. He wrapped me up in his arms. I felt worse. Here’s a wonderful, wonderful person… and I probably like him because he reminds me of Michael.

There’s a special place in hell for people like me.