I can't stand this thing anymore. I try and tell her things, and she blows up at me, and suddenly it's all my fault. Suddenly I am responsible for the teenaged tantrums that spring forth from her vile and odiousness. I love her. To bits. But I'm so sick of being fucking trashed so that she can get her own way. But what sort of kid goes around stabbing people? And doing cocaine with one of your parents for fuck's sake. I worry so fucking much about her, it's almost unbelievable. I get the most horriblest feeling sometimes, after I've talked to her, like she's going to do something really really stupid.
I just told her that I wasn't coming online anymore. And now I'm really upset. I can't not talk to her, and she was so one of my three, but now she thinks that I don't want to talk to her anymore.
OW OW FUCK, my arm's bleeding.
Now she's gone offline. And she wasn't at home. But she's never at home, and I asked where she was, and she wouldn't tell me. Said, 'I'm not being cagey, I just can't tell you.' Now, even if she's not up to anything, I still think she is. Normally the only time she won't tell me what she's doing is when she's doing something she knows I vastly disapprove of. I swear to God, if I find out that she is at Tim's or with him today, after the way she's just fucked me off, I am going to rip the stupid arrogant fuck into shreds. He disputes I could do this, because I'm a girl.But fucking watch me you prick. Offer me out the way you did with Sam and Wez and Ben. Bring it on you fuck. Hopefully, she's not with him. Cos that'd just be wrong, plus the fact that she knows he's trying to shag her, and it doesn't impress her much. Or in fact, at all. And she thinks he's a retard. She's said as much.
What the FUCK is wrong with her?
Also, now, she's a lesbian. I'm not even going to get into why I think this is a bad idea for her, but I think it is. She says penises make her vomit. I want to lock her in a room until she stops being such a fucking kid. I know that she won't stop being a kid until she's not a kid anymore, but I can't help wanting it to be now.
TV depresses me. I watched a series last week, and instead of just watching it, like I normally would. I got terrible affected by the characters. I cried like a baby when one of them died, but instead of being sad, it made me think god, she was 36. In 13 years, I could be dead. And I'dve totally wasted my life. All the things I've done, all the people that I've stayed friends with, because I thought it was for the best. I have so many regrets, and I know it's always better to regret something you have done, than something you haven't, but I seem to have not done as much as I have done. I wish I hadn't spent as much time with Wes as I did. That's all over now, and I've only just started to realise that he didn't care about me at all. He said he did, but all I see is lies now. If he cared about me, he would have called me at least once between last October and now. And he hasn't. There's a huge part of me, that was so relieved when he didn't call. I knew the only way that I could get over Wes was to not see him anymore, at all, and I told him this several times. He disagreed with me, and told me that we couldn't stop hanging out, and that it'd be wrong because we were so close. Then, less than a month later, he got a new girlfriend, and he stopped speaking to me for the duration of their two-month relationship. He started again, as soon as they'd split up, obviously, this is Wes we're talking about, why would he go without his Monday night smoking session if he didn't have to? All the time I knew it was going to happen again. And it did. Bloody Becca. I'm sure she's very nice and everything, but I fucking hated the fact that Wes had rejected me, because of liking pop music, and wearing too much pink, and listening to Justin Timberlake occassionally, and then he gets a girlfriend who does exactly the same thing. Plus the fact, Wes kept my makeup and some of my clothes. I want them back, I spent a fucking ton on that spangly pink body powder with faeiries on the box, and the fucker's still got it, and that was my faerie tattoo flash. So, I have to find another one. The line was discontinued ages ago and I just want to find out where he's living now, and smash his fucking face in with a hammer. Whatever I may have felt for Wes previously has completely evaporated, leaving me with a very bitter taste in my mouth. I don't give a single solitary fuck about anyone even remotely connected with that stuido anymore. What no one seems to realise is that everything I did, and everyone I fucked off was a choice that I made totally by myself. By the time the incident happened I hated the smurf and his whipping boy (and his whipping boy's girlfriend, I might add) so much, that I just couldn't. If I'd repeated all of the things I'd been told, that made me angriest, I think they'd have been in a lot of shit. But I didn't. I chose my words carefully, and said exactly what I wanted to. From what I've been told recently, by the odd, like, 4 people that I still have any inclination to talk to, it's quite funny, because evryone thinks that I lost something important to me, but it was more like getting rid of a dead weight. A dead weight that you've wanted to get rid of for over a year, but haven't had the balls to. And I finally did. And, three years down the line, I discover that I don't even miss them. Not really. All I've wanted, for a long time now, was to be settled down, and mostly happy, with enough money to last the month and I am. My life is better with no one around to fuck it up.
There's no Aimee anymore, for me to be burningly jealous of. For me to wonder if I could ever be thinner than her. (I have by the way dropped four dress sizes) For me to wonder why my clothes never look as fucking clean as hers, why my hair would never do that pretty blonde flicky thing. Why I always felt massively ungainly and coordinated standing next to her and Cel. God, they were both so pretty, and I was so jealous of what they both had. I spent so many years wishing I could be a part of their circle. I never realised that I had my own circle of freaks who proved to be much better for me. And they still are.
I remember the first night that I saw through any of them, with any clarity. Aimee was the first. Can you imagine, standing in the pub at a huge birthday party thingy, talking to your best friend's very recent ex, (of about three days) and having him tell you, that when you're not there, she slags you off to all her friends, and makes you the butt of all her jokes. That she tells people that you're fat, and ugly, and you only hang around with her to make yourself look better. That you've got more coke money than her, so clearly you were a valuable asset. Can you imagine being told that she actually told people these things all the time. This wasn't a private slagging. This wasn't something that she told her two or three other closest friends. She told everyone. My fucking boyfriend had heard rumours of it. And she wonders why I hate her now. She was supposed to be the same girl that had spent every day with me, for six months, when I split up with Jerry, making me 'biscuit surprises' and feeding me wine, whilst tripping over her far too baggy Carhartts. By the night of the birthday party, it was all Prada knock-offs and vintage stockings. And terrible tattoos. I've never come closer to getting into a fucking street brawl. Wes was literally holding me against a wall, Johnny and Jim were pissing themselves because they both hate Aimee, Nick spent ten minutes trying to explain to her that she really shouldn't come near me, as I had been drinking, and I wanted to knock her teeth out. That was the last night I felt like any of them loved me. I remember turning around, and being so glad that there were that so many people on my side. Less than six months later, it was all over. But I guess that's another story.
'Beautiful cancer, infiltrate and forget.'