the thing is right,
when i went through it, it did hurt.
at the time.
Just not anymore.

and even though the memory's kind of fuzzy, i remember how everything ached.
i remember how everything felt like a wound that was being ripped open again and again and again.
when you're in it, you feel like you're never gonna get out.
and when you're finally out of it and you've run far enough away,
you forget what it all felt like.
That is, until everything starts spilling out all over your lap again.


and i.

I mean.
there hasn't been a reason to cry.
Why should I, after all.


I'm lucky.
I'm lucky because my coping mechanisms worked.
Throwing up and jogging and cutting and crying, that all worked.
That and maybe leading people on.

It's there you know.
Shit Victor, you're freaking right.
It's there, somewhere in my journal.
Waiting for someone to fall hard enough for me so that I can raise an eyebrow at him, call him silly and then walk out of the room.
Precisely the reason I wasn't with a girl, because I could never do that.

So.

I guess I've done my share of leading people on, being an absolute skank, and whatnot.

Fucking hell.
I am so bloody sick of myself right now.
So incredibly annoyed that I thought I was all that,
when in truth, I'm really not.


I really haven't been.