Then I lied and told her that it was totally cool for her to talk to me about the whole thing, all because I'm some sort of fucking masochist.

I was feeling pretty shitty already, and that really drove the melancholy deep within my core like a fucking piledriver.

I know it pisses my friends off when I say shit like this, and understandably so because it implies that they don't mean anything to me, or that I don't appreciate them, which isn't true, but sometimes I just feel incredibly unloved and lonely, and it fucking kills me.

I really just didn't need to hear that tonight.

The next morning: Somehow this spiraled into a full-blown breakdown, although I don't think the root in this freak out was really in the situation itself, it was simply a catalyst. Regardless, I just keep thinking . . .

I bet she's cuter than me

and artsy

and wears bright colors and knows how to accessorize

and is not so fucking serious

but is spontaneous and fun and knows how to be funny without being cynical and sarcastic.

I'm sure she is nothing like me and refreshingly so. Fuck that.

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