I’m still in love with everyone who dumped me

So, we broke up. It’s been about a month, or maybe two now. It was right before Christmas.

Did he even get me a gift? I can’t remember. I got him his early because I know the breakup was coming and I wanted to make sure I got him something. If I can’t remember what it was, who is the worse person?

Does being the worse person matter, in the end?

In the end, I did cheat on him, I suppose. Maybe that makes me the worse person, even convinced as I am he cheated first. Even knowing he stole from me. Maybe being the worse person isn’t so bad.

Venus retrograde just ended, and the last day of it, I couldn’t sleep at all. All I could think of was being in love with someone, how everyone who dumped me, I would take back, if they promised to love me right this time.

If there even is a right way to love me.

What do I think that even means, someone like me, who gets so angry they can’t stand it, someone manipulative, someone who wants to reach out to the person only using them for sex, who sleeps in the same bed as their ex, who thinks about dying more than they think about living.

How to love me, and why does it hurt so much to imagine it.

Lying, lying, lying, baby.

I meant to keep this diary up more, but everything, everything, all the time so much.

I’d even take back the worst of them, all of them.

I don’t know if I still love the most recent ex. I feel love, I feel betrayal. I lobbed at bomb at the one using me for sex, because I needed to destroy it, and I did. Even though I can barely remember the whole story - the drinking and all - the dissociation.

Where do I go from here, I ask myself. I go forward, I go backward. What if I tried diagonally for once? I learned I can teach trigonometry; I can learn to move sideways. I can learn to move any direction you want me to go, just tell me, just tell me which way you want me to move, and I’ll become anything you want. Let me be what you need.

Let me scream

I think about seatbelt hands. I think about locking myself in, I think about being tied to anyone else. I think about the beautiful girl I love who hasn’t got the space for me in her life. I think about the other beautiful girl I love, and how there would never be space in my life, for me, like that - how disgusted with myself I get for thinking of her that way.

Do I actually know how to love or am I pretending?

Lying, lying, lying, baby.

How do you learn how to love in a way that doesn’t hurt?

Why does it hurt so much?

Maybe I want it to hurt. I want my sex rough, why not my love too? Maybe I don’t know what anything good feels like until I’m shown it and I reject it out of habit.

Can it be a habit? Hurting yourself become a habit, sometimes. Have it, habit.

I don’t hurt myself with knives, so I break my own heart.

Maybe one is less destructive than the other, maybe I cause collateral damage

Maybe maybe maybe, baby

I don’t know the answers to my own questions becasue the work is hard to dig too deep into the shallow and hollow depths. Do you feel that way too or am I just alone again?

Someone has to feel that way.

Will he ever call me again?

Will the person in my bed ever reach out for me in the night again, or am I so vile?

Would he forgive me, if he knew when I decided we’d broken up, what id’ done? I know he wouldn’t.

Lying, lying, lying, baby.

What would I do if he saw this?

How do you tell truth from lies, and how much am I lying? I don’t know anymore. Would anyone tell me where the truth is, give me a direction?

Remember being yelled at.

Remember being called an abuser.

Remember fucking him after he said he terrorized a drunk girl with a gun, as a test for you, for how much you’d be willing to accept.

How did I survive that?

How do I survive this?

Why does everything that should have killed me fast kill me so slowly.