So I Hung My Head And Cried...

(The title function on this is not working, hence you get the bold)

I did, honest to God, I really did.

I'm not sure if any of you knows what that means, and I can't exactly explain it to you, but the thing is, I'm at my Dad's. I haven't cried at my Dad's in... God, I must've been like 6 the last time that happened. Dad's is my escape from the world, everything is better there, Dad is only a room away, and he's always there, and I may not talk about my feelings with him, we may not talk things over, but I know he's always there, and the moral support is enough to keep my spirits up through thick and thin.

But this time, not even Dad could save me.

Ah, I suppose half of you don't know the story... Okay, by half, I mean considerably more than half, unless there are only four people reading this. Basically, Josh found this blog, and I am again forced to pack up and run away with my fucking tail between my God damned fucking legs. I... Alright, excuse me for a moment, I'm about to type something that I'm not exactly allowed to yell in an apartment like this, with my Dad in the next room...

God fucking damn it! Cock sucking piece of shit! Why do I always fuck myself over like this? Fuck! Fuck me, fuck you, and fuck this whole piece of shit world!

Alright, that was a poor subsitute for yelling curses into the void of silence, but it felt good nonetheless.

Alright, so Jill told me, and she asked me to delete it all, and I mean, she did say that I couldn't, but we both knew that it wasn't a real choice, because we both know that I am just a piece of shit pushover, that I will let any fucking person with legs walk all the fuck over me, so of course I was going to do it. Never mind the fact that I had promised myself that I would never, ever let this happen again. Never mind the fact that I promised myself I would stay fucking firm on this, that I wouldn't allow him to again force me to fucking curl up in the fetal position while he stomps all over me, yet again. I mean, never mind all that, because why do promises need to be kept when they're made to a son of a bitch like me? Right? Who the fuck needs to even bother with that?

Argh! ARGGGGHHHH! FUCK! I'm sorry, I'm just so, so, so angry at myself, and there is absolutely no other way to express it while I'm here. Jill, don't worry, I'm not angry at you... You did what you had to do. Josh? I will never be able to even talk to you while he is in the same room, ever again. I don't think I'll be able to hold back... He thought he could hurt me a good amount physically? He has not fucking known pain like I will show him mentally. Idle threats? Fucking watch me.

I guess... This is it. If they recover from this, if they go back to normal, if shit like this is forced on me again, I will snap. Plain and simple, this is quite honestly the last straw, the one that broke this camel's fucking back. If she doesn't come clean... I don't know what I'll do, but you can fucking bet it will be completely self destructive, because there's no one I hate quite as much as myself apparently.

How did this happen? I used to love myself... I thought that would never break. I... Was wrong.

I don't know what else to do, I don't know what else to say... I don't think anyone really knows what this has done to me, and I don't think I even know, because I don't know why! What is it about this that makes it seem like the worst thing ever? Why is this the last straw, over all the things that have happened? I think... I think it has to do with the fact that I used to love myself, and I used to think that, even when everyone else shitted out on me, I would always be able to rely on myself... And I found out today that that was never true, that I am the last fucking person that anyone should think about relying on. Because, if I can't even rely on myself, who else should take that fucking risk?

Jill, I'm sorry for letting you let me do this to myself, because this isn't your fault... I could've refused but I didn't, so you shouldn't feel guilty for this, but I know you're going to, and I know that's my fault. But... The thought that someone could feel sympathy for me, could feel any guilt at all induced by me, fills me with such revolt, such disgust, because I know that I am not worth that.

God, Dave thought he'd seen me a broken man before? I was bent, perhaps... I see now that a man is not broken until he hates himself so much that he wishes to see himself broken.

I need to go to bed, I need the bright morning light to wash over me and cleanse this anger, because I feel so much like taking it out on myself, on my body, on my mind, and right fucking now. Cut myself? No. Hurt myself? No. Kill myself? Not yet, far too early for that... Sleep? Yes. Sleep is the best option. And in that sleep of death, what dreams may come.