Venting.
Haven't eaten much today. A packet of oatmeal and a small bowl of rice krispies. Couldn't sleep much last night either. My stomach doesn't like it much. I know it's for the best though, he was toxic for me. I'm still furious every time I think about it. It's funny, just the other day he was telling me "you make me so afraid of losing you," but I know that nothing would be enough for him to "chase" after me. I know that even if he *does* make an effort to email or call me, it would only be to make me feel bad and guilt trip me and mind-fuck me. I know better than to accept any form of communication. But he won't try anyway. He's not like that. He doesn't chase. He doesn't put that effort in. He lets people slip away. He turns away and none of it matters to him. That means I will have proven that I didn't mean as much to him as he claimed. I knew better than to believe someone who kept reminding me how easily he cuts his feelings off.
So much rage. So much hate. I keep wanting to smash my fist through the wall or mirror, but I'll take it out on myself instead through mental bashings. Furious.
It doesn't even make much logical sense. Everything just added up wrong. Hours before he was telling me one thing, telling me he wouldn't do it. Then that fucking bitch talked him into it. Clearly he'd much rather spend time with her. Now he'll get to spend as much time as he wants with her. Where have we heard that routine before? Actions speak louder than words.
I can't remember feeling this passionate about anything for at least a year. I suppose it's too bad it is a *negative* passion, but at least I stopped thinking about ways to die for a moment.
"Sometimes anger can help you survive" - Storm, X-Men 2