Alright, Gerard. I've had enough. This ends now. I'm sick of this. I'm sick of your shit. I'm sick of hating myself. I'm sick of you.
If you think you can just come home in the middle of the night while I spent Christmas alone and take it all out on me, you're wrong. You're so fucking wrong. You cannot come home and hit me again and expect me to be sorry. I'm not fucking sorry and I have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.
I'm not sorry for missing you. I'm not sorry for loving you. I'm not sorry for actually giving a shit about you and I'm not sorry for trying to help you. What did I do to deserve this? Why do you hit me? Why don't you like spending time with me? Why did you ever talk to me if you don't care about me?
My cheek is still red from your palm. It still stings a little. You can hit pretty fucking hard, you know. I don't know what to do about us anymore, Gerard. I don't want to leave. I can't. But I'm tired of being treated like... Like nothing. I'm so fucking tired. You push me away like nothing ever happened between us. News flash, Gerard, we've been in love for quite a while now, and if you hated me so much you should've broken up with me before I became nothing without you.
How long have you hated me for? All those times you told me you love me, did you really? Or was I just making a joke out of myself constantly telling you I love you when you had absolutely no feelings for me?
I'm done, Gerard. I can't take this anymore. Just tell me what's wrong and I'll try to understand. Please. I only want to make things better. The last thing I want to do is leave you.
I don't know what to do with you. I don't know what to do with myself. I'm not strong enough to keep the both of us alive and I've told you this so many times: if I have to save one of us, it'll be you. I will die for you.
Remember when we went to dinner that time when we were about three months into dating? Your hair wasn't dyed; it was brown and boyishly short, so it fell upon your forehead perfectly. You kept asking me why I was smiling at you all day, and I shrugged. It was because I was three months clean, Gerard. And I wouldn't have been three months clean without you. In fact, I wouldn't have even been alive.
But now you could be the reason I die. How do you feel about that? You saved me. Not now, though. You don't want to save me.
I just can't do this anymore. I can't do it, Gerard. I need your love like never before. I feel like absolute shit and I just want to cry and never stop crying. I want to do terrible things to myself, and I want to give up. You've given up on me already, anyway.
I will never be able to say I'm okay, though I like to pretend I am. But I'm not. I'm not okay, Gerard, and I never will be. You're the one who makes me not okay, yet I still don't want you to go, and I still don't want to leave either. I think the only way for me to be completely okay is to be six feet under.
I hate you right now, Gerard. I hate you so much and I am tired of you. I fucking hate everything you do to me and I hate how you think you can control me! I hate how our entire relationship revolves around you! I hate everything about us so much. I hate you. I hate you!
