No Broken-hearted girl (Crushing Hard Series Book 2)

Dear Diary: 21/06/2013

Friday

Today I found myself sitting on my bed, legs tucked beneath me like a pretzel, flipping through the pages of my old journal. It’s been ages since I last thought about Scott James—weeks, maybe even months. Even writing his name doesn’t sting the way it used to, like a little paper cut to the heart. No, now it’s just... there. Faded. Like a ghost I forgot I’d been haunted by.

But then there was that conversation with Buhle. God. This is why I have a love-hate relationship with Buhle. That girl will read you for filth, then hand you a tissue like, "Here, sis, wipe your tears." She doesn't sugarcoat anything, even when you desperately want her to. The truth might set you free, but trust me, it’ll slap you first.

I swear, sometimes I think she was put on this Earth to drag me, specifically. Why else would she be so good at it?

After that convo, I opened my old journal. I started reading the entries, feeling my old wounds reopen like they had never healed in the first place. And man, had I been deep in my Scott phase. Like, embarrassingly deep. Every page screamed "Scott this, Scott that," like he was some sort of prince I was writing love ballads about. But this wasn’t a fairy tale. It was a disaster wrapped in denial, sprinkled with heartbreak.

But as I flipped through those pages, anger started bubbling beneath the surface. Not heartbreak—not anymore—but something deeper. A sense of clarity. Scott had treated me like trash. And I’d let him.

I stopped at an entry that made my stomach twist:

"I’m really not okay. Last night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, endlessly replaying Scott’s words in my mind. I couldn’t believe it. He actually called me a bully. My Scott—sweet, caring, supposedly reasonable Scott—didn’t even give me the chance to explain. He just exploded at me, leaving me feeling blindsided and… betrayed. I’ve been angry before, but this? This felt like a punch to the gut. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t shake the look in his eyes, and the way he defended her—Cassandra, his ex. It’s like I didn’t matter in that moment. And now I can’t stop thinking, is this really the person I thought I knew?"

Ughhh, reading that again, I winced. I had been so desperate to be with him. So willing to bend over backward, even when it was painfully clear that the timing wasn’t right. It was a disaster from the get-go—messy, complicated, and I’d been all too willing to dive headfirst into the chaos, without stopping to think.

But then... I started noticing something else. Every page, every freaking entry, was all about me. My pain. My feelings. My world. It was hard to ignore how much I had centered me in every single situation. Scott’s complicated feelings? His baggage? Cassandra's miscarriage? Didn’t matter. What mattered was how I felt, how I was wronged. If I’m being brutally honest, I never really stopped to think about how Scott felt about the whole thing—about losing a child, about feeling torn between two people. Nope. My brain just went: “How dare he not make me number one?” I wanted all of him, all the time, as if it was that simple.

Buhle was right. Damn it. I had been selfish. I was a walking tornado, wreaking havoc on anyone in my path without even realizing it. Cassandra? What I did to her was messy. Messy, and selfish. I barged in on someone else’s world, smashed things up, and then had the nerve to act like I was the victim. Love, my foot. I used it as an excuse for my bad behavior.

But here’s the thing. My feelings were valid. They still are. I felt like Scott put Cassandra first because he did. I felt like I was an afterthought because I was. Those feelings don’t just vanish because I now realize I was part of the problem. Scott was wrong for making me feel that way.

But you know who I’m mad at the most? Myself. I signed up for the circus and then got mad when there were clowns. I allowed myself to get sucked into that mess, convinced I could just love him hard enough to make it all go away.

I have a lot of thinking and reflecting to do, diary.

Xoxo