dear j,
i stayed home today. i faked sick, not wanting to face the wrath of living. pathetic, huh? i think so. i want a zombie apocalypse, yet, can't even seem to face the living.
when elaine got home-early, might i add-, she was pissed. i was supposed to clean? well, fuck. tell me next time, will ya? she came home early! i swear i was going to clean.
i have a doctors appointment today. 10:40am. then have to go see a therapist on Tuesday, then at some point, a hospital counsellor. though, to be honest, the Trellis counsellor is worse.
i asked someone to pass on to you that i love you.. you said it back, supposedly.
my stomachs been hurting a lot lately. can't sleep. can't eat without that nagging feeling of nausea. why? why do i feel this way? i just want to be put out of my misery.
i beat myself up everyday for what i did. to you.
elaine, whenever we fight, comes up to my room a minute later, to ask if im 'mad' at her-furious more like it-. she only apologizes for when i have to talk to court, that i have nothing bad to say about her perfect little angel self (my ass.). she laughs with me and leaves.
i fucking hate fake-fucking fucking smiles and fine-fuckings. fuck. i fucking hate this fuck.
i remember that time you were sat on the counter, me on the floor.. you told me i could tell you anything, and you wish i confine in you for everything.. i wish i would have done just that.
i need to release this pent up anger, but how? HOW?!
i don't know, and im beginning to care less and less each day. but whatever. im 'fine'.
who knows, i might come out of this alive. We might come out of this alive.
did you know, if you were to fart for 6 years and 9 months, you'd have enough energy to create an Atomic bomb?
turtles can breathe from their butts.
i truthfully, with every fibre of my being, miss you, j.
signed,
