I'm seriously feeling the precipice of the fucking holiday season burning my back. I need to face it and extinguish the anguish and pain. A year ago, I was calling an ambulance for my Gingered Wonderfag because he gave himself a heart attack by taking too much of one of my meds. Not that I was a saint, but i knew my limits. Son of a Bitch (capital B) has no self-control. Maybe Rosie Meyer(s?) helps him out with that. He never had any self control when it came to anything whether it was drugs or touching himself.
Wow... That paragraph right there holds all the pent up anger and emotion I have over the situation still despite the fact that it's been over for 7 months now. And I'm a total moron. I've decided to call my fuckbuddy FB now. I think things between us need to be over. I'm starting to kinda almost care about him now. He wants me to rent a room this time. AND pay for gas. I'll do one, but not both. Sure, you can use me for sex. But that's about it, especially when you don't really make any effort. I'm not a sugar momma.
Yeah, fuck it. I'm done. I usually have a hard time saying no, but I'm gonna start making it easier on myself. I'm just gonna turn off my emotions and become a fucking robot. Because that seems to be how everyone else functions, for fuck's sake.
I'm really suppressing suicidal thoughts. I fucking hate November. Wow.... amazing what a song can do to you. This song (Born Slippy) makes me die a little bit. Fuck Gingered Wonderfag and our ex-roommate Greg. He deserves no anonymity either, but his last name is generic, it doesn't really make a point. So is Rosie, but I don't know her and have even less respect for her.
Okay, tomorrow is going to be better. This was the worst Tuesday I've had in awhile. This week is going to be a long one, I can feel it in my bones. ::sigh::
I'm gonna go cry into a couch cushion now.
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