You know what: screw it. I'm done. I've tried to do shit your way, live the life you wanted me to. I know you wanted the best for me. I know you still do. But you need to shut the fuck up.
You don't know me. All you see when you look at me is what I'm doing. And you don't even pause to wonder why. It's either "right" or "wrong" in your mind. And there is no gray area. You don't even try to think about stuff from my side. Apparently, to you, my side doesn't even fucking exist. You need to face reality.
You screwed up. You did. I'm sorry, but that's the truth. Somewhere along the line, you pushed too hard, and I fucking snapped. I'm broken, I'm not fucking perfect. I will never be perfect. And apparently I will never be good enough for you. I'm sorry. And you know: I'm not even being sarcastic about that. I really am sorry. You can't even see past the exterior and see that maybe, just maybe, I am a good person. Yeah, I might make some stupid decisions. Possibly even wrong ones. But they're still my decisions, and they don't change who I am. And I'm sorry for myself. Because now I don't, can't, accept who I am. Because in my mind, my mind, I don't think that I'm good enough. I don't think I am smart enough, pretty enough, talented enough. I still think I am worthless and a waste of time. I don't even know how to care about myself anymore, because I still see myself as a failure. And no matter what I try, what I do, I can't stop.
Yeah: I had sex with Michael. But you know what: I thought I was going to marry him. I thought I had somebody there that didn't expect shit out of me, and that was so refreshing. I thought I had somebody that would accept me as I am, for who I am, not what the fuck I'm doing. I thought I had somebody who's view of me would never be tarnished because I didn't do as expected, or live up to ridiculous expectations. I wouldn't have fucked him if I thought it would end.
Yeah: I was wrong. I know that. Shut up and stop reminding me of it.
Yeah: I have a new boyfriend/old one. And this time I'm not expecting anything in particular. But what I have seen from him scares the shit out of me while making me unbelievably hopeful. He is one of the few that doesn't want the mask. Whatever screwed up broken destroyed thing is underneath: that's what he wants. And he wants to help put me back together. For my sake. He's not looking at me as a problem to be fixed. And I'm thankful for that. I know it could end, I'm perfectly aware of that. And that's ok: that's life.
But when am I going to start having that? A life. My life, preferably. Maybe yours is nice for you. But as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm not you. Let me live my life. Let me make my mistakes. Or, god forbid, some actual good decisions for me. Stop treating me like a child.
You pushed too hard. I'm tired of fighting, so I'll just cut you out. You're making me miserable. You're making me hate myself. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of feeling like a disappointment, like I'm worthless.
You want me to be happy? Seriously? Stop thinking about yourself for once and think about me. Shut the fuck up and leave me alone.
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