every now and then something he said will come back to memory and pierce right through.
"desperate"? "manic-depressive"? "psycho"? trying to beat into me that i have no friends?
i don't mind being called a crazy bitch, as long as it's done with the utmost of respect and admiration, or even astonishment. that, i can appreciate. laugh with me at myself, not at me.
he got under my skin.
i couldn't wouldn't show it.
and when i would bite right back with a remark, he'd mock me. he'd tell me oh, i grew some balls.
i got ballsy, he said.
yeah i've got the balls to talk shit to your face, but..
i guess words can still affect me. but it's good. at least i still function as a human.
anger is exhausting.
for many years i was angry with myself. i don't doubt that's why i was always tired.
now i'm angry at you
for slipping me this poison in my favorite cup.
i didn't need this dosage.
i'll get over it, though.
and i know you still read this.
can't stand to see me happy, can you?
LJ