Guilt for the Wicked

I hurt someone today. I broke his heart. He came over and told me he loved me, to give him another chance.

I said I hate him, that he had fucked up. That’s a lie. I said that so he could get over me quickly. So he wouldn’t miss me when I’m not there to wrap my arms around him while he sleeps or kiss his cheek to wake him up.

This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. His grandmother is dying. Considering he’s never met his father (let alone knows who he is) and his mother died when he was nine, his grandma is damned important to him. And you hurt him even more, Jess.

ARGH! Why do I feel this much guilt?! He really did fuck up. I don’t like him like that anymore… Shit, I’m getting soft. I used to hurt people for a living. I never lost any sleep over it. Now I tell a guy I don’t like him anymore and I feel like a hippo is wiping its ass on my chest. Time to move on, Fizz. You’ve felt sorry for yourself long enough. He should feel bad, not you.

Onward and downward, I guess.

Let the Pain In

My little brother and I are both hurt. I hosted a fucking-crazy-wild surprise birthday party for our friend Rachel last night full of alcohol and smoke and debauchery, but the pain, at least this kind, can’t be washed away.

Alex: I don’t know what to do.

Me: It’s still fresh. You’re in the hurting stage. Sounds shitty, but sometimes you just gotta hurt.

Alex: I’d rather cauterize the wound.

Me: If you figure out how to do that, you’ll be a rich man.

Alex: I’d take five minutes of pain over five months of grief.

I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but it’ll be more than five months.

I still hurt.

Broken

Today I am a broken person.

Things ended with Michael. I’m hurt. I feel like I won’t be okay. Everybody keeps saying I’ll get through it, but I’m not sure. I have a hard time letting go of people, and I lost someone great.

You either love someone forever or you never loved him at all.


I told him I’d let him read an old post I had password protected on my blog. I’ll just leave it here:

Adieu

Password: shard

Today I shattered.

Friends

I sent out an SOS and everybody came out in full force. Text messages, SnapChats, people visiting with cakes, and hugs…more hugs and cuddles than I thought a girl could ever have.

I talked to my father as well. He said Michael was wise for recognizing that he isn’t ready for a relationship. “Sweetheart, if you’ve had a boyfriend before, there’s a line of a million guys waiting to make you happy. You’d have 10 million if you were back down to your fighting weight of 140 pounds though. Just remember that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach so learn how to cook, and make up doesn’t hurt.”

Ian offered to have his fingernails removed (he used to be a dealer and “knows some people”) and Jay said he could run Michael’s car through a chop shop down in Silver Spring. “At the very least I can pop three tires. Insurance don’t cover that shit if it’s only three.”

I mentioned it to my brother in passing. He gave me a lot of shit for crying…and then I saw this on his Facebook.

Some other messages:

    


    

I feel very loved. And as much as I find all of these “Let’s beat the shit outta Michael” messages amusing, I really don’t want anything bad to happen to him at all. I guess that means this was a good thing.

I just feel…empty.


About a week before I decided I was going to be a dumbass and ask Michael what he wanted of me (I still don’t fucking know the answer to that question), I wrote a script of sorts. Stupid paper. Stupid Jessica for writing it.

Me: Why do I look at this piece of paper like it’s a death waiver?

Matt: Because he’s like a weird investment in your life and you don’t want to run the risk.

I may have a gambling problem.