Fuck you.
FUCK YOU.
A thousand times, Fuck you. You, of all people, I get emotionally attached to.
You, of all people, I come to expect things from. Equal if not greater intelligence.
Understanding. PATIENCE WHEN I HAVE NONE.
I’m on birth control because of YOU. I take these fucking things because of YOU, because I LOVE YOU.
I’m out here alone because of YOU. I don’t connect with anyone here, and I don’t try, because OF YOU. BECAUSE I LOVE YOU. I can’t live without you. And that’s your fault.
YOU.
You’re going to be here in a week. Things are going to suck until then.
BECAUSE OF YOU.
I’m fucked in the head, and all I want you to do is sit there and put up with it. I’m not asking you to build a tower as a testiment of our love. I’m not asking to write a sonnet, I’m not asking you to patronise me.
All I want is for YOU to remain as YOU ARE and react as I’ve come to expect you to.
As far as I know, your life is perfect. As far as I know, you’ve got nothing to worry about except me. As far as I know, you haven’t got anything new to deal with.
As far as I know, you still love me.
Yeah, you can fucking hate me when I’m like this.
I FUCKING HATE IT, TOO.
Imagine it – once a month just suddenly deciding that everything around you pisses you off an wanting to throw it out the window. Every person who pisses you off gets it in the face. And then others get it to.
FUCK YOU.
I told you before that it’s not personal, it’s just fucking THINGS.
Women are highly irrational creatures on days like this. I know this, Everyone knows this.
FUCK YOU.
Don’t fucking run away from me.
FUCK YOU. *sob* FUCK YOU *sob* That’s all this week is going to be for me.
And all I want you to do is be normal. Treat me like you always do.
DON’T FUCKING RUN AWAY FROM ME. Do you want to make things WORSE?
You know what I’ll do? I’ll end up whining on my journal. I’ll end up whining to anyone who’ll talk to me on aim. I’ll become some little whiny attention fucking whore.
I’ll become the very thing I hate, because I can’t fucking control this all the time. IT IS VERY HARD FOR ME TO THINK AND REACT RATIONALLY.
Do not make the process harder on me.
FUCK YOU.
Every good fucking idea I have had, ever grand realization, everything that makes my mind work in such wonderful ways is FUCKING SHUT DOWN for a WEEK.
Every conduit of creativity is CLOGGED WITH RAGE. Why? Because of hormones. Good, I identified the problem. Fixing it should be easy.
FUCKING WRONG, YOU FUCKING GIT.
DRUG FREE, YAY FOR ME.
I hate mind altering drugs. I hate hormone altering drugs.
I HATE DRUGS OF ANY SORT. Yet I’m taking birth control.
And it helped.
For the first three months.
And everything it softened before has just retruned ten-fold.
I FUCKING HATE IT. I hate the way I feel, and I hate how hard it is to control.
I HATE YOU.
FUCK YOU.
FUCKING MOOD SWINGS.
Oh, I’m happy, oh I’m sad, oh I’m FUCKING PISSED OFF. Oh, I’m trying to lighten things up again, OH FUCK YOU, THICKY.
Christ, FUCK YOU.
I FUCKING LOVE YOU.
(An un-edited train-of-thought writing about how much you make me cry.)