The following was written in the wee hours of early this morning, the first time I wrote my feelings down in a long time:
Silly to cry over a boy stupid stupid. I have better things I need to concentrate on. And yet, my heart has never ached so hard. A dull, throbbing, merciless hurt. I want to turn it off I want to be happy. D, my boyfriend, if you can still call him that, wants me to be happy too. However, he goes about it in the wrong way. I am starved of affection. My efforts are futile, they backfire. If I reveal how hopeless I feel, I am once again succumbing to negativity. The more I see him the more I hurt. Is this his cruel punishment for me? To torture me into happiness? I tell myself he is trying to help, and he is, but he hurts me with it.
Why can't I be his perfect dream of a girl I once was? He would rather spend time with that one girl, EG. In fact, I feel as if all he does is spend time with her. She is so happy, so naturally full of pep. So pretty, so skinny, and she's white. The worst is that she is so perfect, so nice, so genuine, it should be a sin to hate her. Yet I can't help but do so. I am the ugly stepsister. Every single day they are together. If ZJ (D's best friend and my good childhood friend) didn't have her, I'm sure he would leave me for her by now. It is both a blessing and a curse. I am glad she is taken, unavailable, but I almost want to see what he would do. She is everything I am not. She embodies everything he wants me to be.
Would he still have loved me in the beginning, had he known what I would reveal of myself later? I think not. That's the part that hurts the most, that all his warmth and love and charm was not meant for me, but the illusion of who I made myself. I lost myself to a rash, hot teenage fling, not to pristine companionship and love.
How absolutely ironic that in the beginning, I was the one who could not just let go and love. He pined for me like I was a precious gem. Now here I am, unwanted trash.
My true darkness was gilded with girlish cheeriness.
She was who he fell in love with.
She was who he made love to.
Towards me, he has only ever felt resentment and weariness.