Stuff that surrounds my thoughts

05/04/2020

So I have just been played for like the hundredth time and you think that by now I would have learned my fucking lesson but I guess not. 

I really thought he was different. 

He seemed different.

Acted different.

Spoke and treated me different.

I guess I was just seeing what I wanted to see. 

Especially after the day we had yesterday. 

We danced in the middle of his living room and I didn't care that it was bad. He made me laugh and that was all that mattered. After we snuggled and just talked about each other and even about topics that were a bit deep. He even saw how I had recently relapsed a few days ago and did not judge me or pity me. He just wanted to know I was ok. 

He danced with, cooked for me, and made me feel so special.

No one had done that before.

It felt different with him. 

So then why did it end like it does with all the others?

They all just used me for their own gain. 

And why did I not see it before?

Since my relapse all I want to do is continue doing it. 

And I am so alone.

People are there for me. I know they are. But they are so wrapped in their own problems and stressors that I don't want to bother them with all my bullshit. I guess that is why I came back to write some more. See it helps to write my feelings out and I won't feel so alone. 

Fuck having a heart.

It's a worthless organ that is far too fragile for it to be such a vital part of the human body. 

It breaks too easily and for some reason mine won't grow a callus around it from all the shit it has gone through to protect it from future damage.  I really hate having one. I hate my brain too. It won't stop thinking. No matter how hard I try.

I kind of want to write poetry, well more like my sad excuse for poetry, again. I used to be really good. Although it was really dark. Maybe I'm just a dark person, and I have never changed. 

And this is shit. 

I thought I has out-grown these stupid feelings of worthlessness a long time ago. Or maybe I just suppressed them by keeping busy and  not really dealing with them in the first place. 

Either way, all I've wrote so far is shit. No body read this.

 Ah, fuck him.

He will be the last. I fucking swear it.

I know I said it before him, but now I really mean it. 

I am done getting hurt and used. 

xoxo

-Becca