somewhere between the juxtaposition of exhaustion, being a glass or two deep on red wine, and having taken two, or maybe three, sleeping pills in the last half hour, one's protection from such things gets worn down. what things? oh, you know, all the tiny thoughts that you usually don't have now that you're on antidepressants. bless whatever the hell you're on. you don't know what it's really called, partially because you don't want to be a psychologist, and partially because you still have a speech impediment (bud..buddhapro...buddhapropeon-ion?). one by itself wouldn't be that horrific. but the problem is, it always brings its friends to the fucking party. yea, that person you don't really like that much, brought friends. and now you're entertaining an eclectic mix of strangers and people you dislike.
still the best birthday party you've ever had.
but it's still an in-attending list that would make a more popular girl wash the eyeliner off her face with effluent tears. the sad thing is, you're too kind, so you keep listening to them talk. you hate what they say. you know you can't trust them. they're... off. they exaggerate things. they make themselves more important than they actually are. they're not pretty. and what's worse, they make the world around them, and around you, disgusting. you don't want to live in a world where they exist, if only because it's not a pretty world, and you've always wanted to infuse your days with beauty.
but they're people.
so you still listen to them. and they wear you the fuck down. "did you know that him and i always use to talk about..." and of course you didn't know, and you didn't care, or at least, you didn't think you knew you cared, but all of a sudden you're fucking jealous and if you could just eliminate everyone, that would be great. or... "did you know that everyone's opinion of you is that you're boring, and yes, no one's noticed all the really cool things you do?" shoot. no. i had no idea that i was so... no, you don't want to use that word but they've used it so much... so... boring. you want to punch them in the face and regain your audience's excitement. you want to levitate off the floor, not too much but at least a foot, and you want your eyes to glow white and your muscles, remember when you had some?, to become digitally toned. and you want to force choke them. each and every fucking one. maybe you'd have an axe to off your favorites, and a sledgehammer to wreck the ones that weren't just annoying, weren't just persistent, but were purposefully hurtful. yes. you. no. not you you. him. he wasn't just confusing. that was a cool angle he kept playing, but no. not just confusing, because in the end, while you're chatting it up with these people at the party no one attended except for you and everyone you hate, you discover his true intentions. from who's point of view? no. it's not yours anymore. it's the world's. everyone sees this now. what you thought during your "in the moment analysis" to be confusion, cute and kind confusion, was actually well known motives on his part while you had to mentally sift through conversations and gestures and drunk moments in time to get the heart of your relationship. and the worst part is that it wasn't even simple.
that's what makes it so believable.
so this party attendee can tell you everything you simultaneously want to know and don't want to know. but you can't stop it, and you can't color it's opinion. you could keep drinking, but then you run the risk of holding on to just one thing they say, out of context. and you'd replay that over, and over, and over, and over, and over ad infinitium again and again and again and again. and it will knock you. and you will want to slam your head against your steering wheel and drive off the highway bridge. or you will want to vomit, and let the diet-resultant small chunks of your pathetic breakfast collect in the three different types of sheets making it literally impossible for you to ever want to get a good night sleep, ever again. or it will force you to never listen to that song, ever, because it will force you to see and feel and smell things that remind you of it. and you will never be able to watch that one episode of that one show that used to make you laugh even though the subject matter was way too cute for you to ever like if it had been presented to you in a vacuum.
this person has caused you to sworn off so much. but you're a kind person, and you believe that all people, regardless of insanity or nonsense, or genuine disregard for pragmatism, should have the opportunity to talk to you. you, of all people, who just wants to vomit, to sleep, to forget. But you can't. Because you are you, and you may be boring, but you were raised to be a nice person. So bittersweetly, you resign yourself, thinking about old songs that make you happy but don't make you feel like the world will love you (it won't) or that you're in love with anyone (you aren't). Ergo:
It's my party and I'll cry if I want to.
Yea. So when you are thinking about me, or I am thinking about you, just remember, let's keep it simple for once without throwing in the useless mind-fucks and the confusion on my end and I'm sure the self-confidence on your end: I don't want to fuck you, no, not anymore, so go fuck yourself.
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