Blame

We are now playing the blame game. Of course we would. It is typical of human nature to look for someone to blame when shit goes wrong.

And of course, now everything is my fault. He’s right though, actually. I’ll bet you were waiting for me to be proud and indignant, but I’m done with that. What difference will it make? I’ve already lost everything, I have nothing left, so what’s the point of defending myself and correcting opinions and assumptions when he won’t even listen?

After he read this stupid fucking blog that aided me in ruining everything, I didn’t hear from him for a week. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was too sickened by me to even think about it. So I haven’t heard from him in a week, and during that time I’ve begun undergoing a process of “conditioning”. According to Best Friend, people who suffer from aggression (and people with other issues I’m sure)  put an elastic band on their wrists and snap it and then count to ten when they get angry. Apparently it is to condition the brain to think “oh when I get angry my wrist is also in pain, therefore I should stop getting angry.” So Best Friend advised me to wear an elastic band and snap it whenever I thought about this boy, about this situation.

Within 30 minutes of wearing it I couldn’t move my wrist because the pain was so awful. I had welts all around my wrist and the elastic band was stretched tight against the skin because of the swelling. It was like this for a whole week. I also broke skin twice and started bleeding. I’m surprised the family haven’t noticed. Of course, they wouldn’t.

Mid-week came with some pretty incredible fucking news, news I needed so badly. Family friends of mine had an extra ticket to see the Kings of Leon live at the FNB stadium in Soweto on Saturday night so they asked me to go. I went with my “younger brother” and his mom found a lady in the Johannesburg area who had two tickets she was selling. One was going to Best Friend. We invited a friend of Best Friend’s to take the second, and that night was just so amazing. I pretty much fucking jizzed in my pants in the brilliant seats my brother and I were sitting in, and I got to see Best Friend two days in a row which is always a good thing. (You should know, I am no one without him. He knows this too, but I’ll say it again. He is the most important person I have. Ever.Without him I really am nothing.)

However, because life is a fucking dickbag that hates me, happiness ended quickly. There was no elastic band on Saturday. But it wasted no time in returning to my left wrist on Sunday night. Heart Dragger wants to understand why I did it. So I explained it to him. I just wanted him to understand what he’d done; I wanted him to understand it. I wanted him to SEE. Because he just moved on with his life, left me behind to deal with all of this on my own. He left me alone and carried on with his life like nothing had happened, and he forgot about me. And also, I did it because I wanted him to notice ME, because he had so quickly forgotten about me. Forgive my insecurities, but I’m riddled with them. They fill my mind all day and everyday, they’re in my face every minute after I was berated over and over again by someone I thought was a friend of mine. (Some friend right? Good riddance.)  

When he replies, however, he is blaming me for everything that has happened. According to him he stopped trying to fix our friendship because whenever we saw each other, friendship would disappear most probably because I would bring us up, then I would kiss him and then we’d be back where we started.

Of course, there is some part of me that pricks and starts arguing indignantly, but I’m stubborn. Anyone who knows anything about me would know that. But he is actually right. Of course, only I would do this, always over analysing things and going right to the fucking beginning, but oh well. Just bear with me.

In October/November 2010 I decided we didn’t speak often enough so I made moves to invite him on mxit (retro, right? Ha!) Then during that time and January we spoke every day, becoming closer friends. Then one night he came over for coffee and a chat. I invited him over. Even if it was 12pm and I was exhausted from a busy day. Even though I think he wanted to, and he said he was really glad it happened and it made him feel better or WHATEVER. *I* invited him over. In fact, every single time we saw each other, which was at least once a week, I asked him to. It was always me. Sure, he had the option to say no, to make up some excuse as to why he couldn’t, which he did start doing eventually.... It was always me. I can actually only think of two occasions when he asked me. It’s so stupid to remember all of this, to take it all into consideration. And typing this out makes me ashamed because I used to be fucking incredible okay? I used to laugh. A LOT. And I used to make people laugh and smile and I could make anyone feel better about anything...  I used to be so great... And now I’m some pathetic, sad, depressed and obsessed creature, all because of my own doing.

None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for me... And he had no problem with pointing it out to me. Forgetting, of course, that he had no problem with kissing me back. But nevertheless, if I had not invited him to dinner with my family, if I had not tried to fix things, if I had not tried to “remind him what he was missing” by fucking throwing myself at him, none of this would have happened. The other day I was told by a friend in Cape Town that I boast about my heartbreak like it's some medal. I guess I do. I should, seeing as it's all my doing that this has happened. No one else contributed at all but me. And he's right. I do it because I want him to notice me, because I am obsessed and desperate. I mean are you fucking kidding me? I even went so far as to throw myself at him like the desperate and worthless slut that I am. Hungry for his attention and his approval. I’m disgusting. I’m so pathetic and desperate. This is my fault. This is all my fault and he’s better off without me.