(Remember these? They're back. Just like us!)
Occasionally, I look at everyone I've been messaging the most throughout the day and feel like a fucking douchebag, because they're all women. I feel like a Pick Me in the worst way, especially after my fucking break-up. My texts with B---- have become a brazenly honest therapizing session - the two of us frequently sending each other paragraph-length apologies for "overstepping boundaries" in our "oversharing" and how "disgusting" we feel about ourselves for it. Both of us take sole responsibility for the whole thing, even though it's been entirely mutual since we started doing this shit in November. It just feels especially pathetic since I've broken up with J---. Like, Christ, dude. You fumble the bag because you're steeped to your neck in your own bullshit, and now that they didn't want to take it anymore, you offload it to a new girl, one who is supposed to be your friend. Fuck you.
I should go a little easier on myself. I know she feels the same way. I mean, sure, my vitriol to this dynamic probably has a good point or two. It is just a little fucked. But it's not so bad? I guess I have literally no idea what and how much is okay to share about myself. Case in point: the fucking Wattpad.
Speaking of B----, I sent her that video Grant posted on his story with the dude who kind of looked like a pony moaning "I'm a fucking f*ggot!" followed by a bunch of musical fart videos. In the seconds before spamming this in her DM, I was in hysterics. The minutes after I decided to tough out the *Maybe this was actually a bad idea*, then felt about it, I wanted to blow my fucking brains out. Like, obviously not a big deal that nobody beyond me is thinking about right now, but it just feels like this scatological testament to me sucking right now.
Again, speaking of B----, B----mania feels gross. Not just in light of the break-up, but also in light of what we've started calling "the Farewell Tour," which is her vacation to San Diego. The whole family, whether they have said it out loud or not, have accepted this to be their last outing as a family, period. Like, all of them might get too dysfunctional to talk to each other ever afterward. I'm talking D-word, baby. I said something kind of insensitive about it in the car the other day. All of that in tandem makes B----mania feel like more completely unnecessary bullshit in her already completely unnecessary bullshit life at the moment, bullshit I've gladly contributed to. Case in point: my drunken texts to you the other night. I want to quell it as much as possible for now - hopefully not out of my usual self-sabotage, but out of feeling like there's more important things to deal with. Sorry, mom. Thanks for the support though.
-
The title of this little number is inspired by the night J--- and I learned that learned that their ex before me works nights at the Canadian Superstore downtown - the scary one. This guy, who I'll call LeafyIsHere, is kind of a nightmare version of me. I mean, he bears no resemblance beyond some sweeping generalizations, but I still see myself in the guy. He is pretty remarkably untreated for his very diagnosed ADHD, had a Harmony Korine-esque childhood, simultaneously One Of The Good Ones and forever canonized as Shitty Ex-Boyfriend, and remarkably intelligent despite his oceanic laziness. He couldn't hold a job, stole his way into keeping his PC build a-buildin', and - after a couple of years of squandered potential - wound up at working nights at the Superstore like I said before. This fate seemed strangely karmically punitive, like it somehow served him well for all he has done. Given my many sins this year, I very often wonder how I'll have to get the same.
Please, God, don't fuck me with your dramatic irony and make that last sentence bite me in the ass tomorrow. Spare me, and I'll give up everything.
-
Tom Petty's "Won't Back Down" just came on. That seems like a good attitude to have right now.
-
I love The Pointer Sisters.
-
I barely sleep anymore, and I'm drinking quite a bit. I'm too neurotic to just treat that as just a young-man thing.
-
Most days, I feel bludgeoned by the intertwined-ness of the lives of everyone around me. The nights make me feel completely outside that in a crash. I bang on DMs, wondering what everyone's lives are looking like on the other end right now, caught up in their own shit, as I'm caught up in mine. This paragraph kind of fucking sucks.
-
I have barely addressed the fact that I'm freshly BROKEN UP with in this joint!! Remember my long incel posts from barely a year and a half ago? Check THIS shit out now, bro. I'm an entirely new animal, and I have no idea where to start with it. How do I write about J---?
-
Don't fucking ask me about school. I need to get my shit together.
-
I'm sorry, S-----. I'm sorry I spitefully called you a "cool girl" behind your back. I know you don't give a shit. I mean, anyone would. But you have no idea I ever disrespected you. I take it all back regardless. You actually *are* cool, and also happen to be a girl. You're not as vapid as I implied you were, and it's really fucked up and sinister I ever did that. Thank you for talking to me at work that one time. I kind of cried about it afterward. It was because you reminded me of all the people I've found a really wonderful home-away-from-home in, which includes your boyfriend, who I love very much. His good intentions are intense, even if he can come across as an asshole. I'm sorry his mom didn't let you guys go to New York together, even though you both need that money for other things. I hope we can hang out in situations where I'm not drunk and in a relationship nobody approves of.
-
J---, more than anyone, I am sorry. I have no idea where to begin in saying that. My last letter sucked and was written in a daze of holy-fuck-this-is-happening-and-we-are-breaking-up, hence why it might read as emotionally obtuse. If I were to do it again years from now, when I'm finally reconnected with my heart, I'd put it all out there for you, even if it hurts both of us more. I used to sob in your lap, usually naked or in the back of my car. It was the only time you ever felt I was really honest with you. If I could, I'd tell you the truth one last time. You deserve the record straight. I guess I'll see you in Saskatoon.
