But I need moneys so it’s okay. 9-4 tomorrow HOPE IT ISN’T RAINING IN THE MORNING. 

• Kidney stones in January
• Split my head open and got stitches in February
• Almost got arrested in March 
• Found out I was pregnant in April
• Lost the baby and the father in May
• And so far lost my pants at the beach in June and everything broke in my car in one day. AWESOME.

I wonder what July entails, maybe some broken bones? Viral diseases? Cancer? I already know what Decembers gonna be.. DEATH TO ALL END OF THE WORLD.

I don’t understand why but I have the worst fucking luck lately. My windshield wipers decided to stop working tonight AFTER RAINING CATS AND DOGS. What the fuck is that? I was on the fucking highway with my windshield wipers stuck in the middle of my view and it started raining. 90 works. I actually contemplated what I was going to say to the officer who pulled me over for speeding or stopped to figure out why I was on the side of the highway. “I’m just trying to get home as you can see my windshield wipers no longer serve purpose” and he’d say “Oh no time is precious, get on your way and forget about the ticket, miss, I’ll take care of it for you” And then he’ll wink and I’ll speed off. Or he’ll find me with my head on the steering wheel and ask me what I’m doing and I’ll say “waiting for the rain to stop” and he’ll say “No worries I’ll take you home!” 

That literally stressed me out to the point where I chewed my cheek and it’s bleeding now. Thanks life, you’re so good to me. 

I listened to people tell me that they didn’t understand why I put myself through this. In reality, I wasn’t actually listening but I was hearing everything they were saying. I thought, but didn’t say out loud, that they were the ones who didn’t understand—they never went through it. They did, but they walked away. 

He put me through hell, he treated me like shit. I was a fucking doormat to him, nothing more nothing less. I was here when he left and I was here when he returned. I was here when he decided to leave me for someone else, and I was here when he discovered she was a disaster. Still I stayed to hear him tell me he loved me. But I wasn’t actually listening, or in this case seeing the truth behind the big picture. 

I am what one calls an idealist. Although I draw realistically and my art is very much of the sort, I fooled myself into thinking I was the logical one. In all, I was not. I keep dreaming of his death or the comfort of his hand in mine and I know it’ll never be the same again. I keep thinking I can change his mind or maybe one day he’ll wake up and realize the mistake he’s made and I’ll wake up forgetting them. We could start fresh, run into each other in the cafeteria of our high school. He’ll pick on me for eating pizza with a fork, call me man-kayla because I had a short haircut. I’ll go to all his shows again, he’ll wink at me from behind the mic on stage and I’ll dance to the songs he sings. I wish I lived in the moments I loved now but then again maybe that would have made it more painful for them to be over, to be the past. 

I have a memory box, far too small to hold anything. And It doesn’t. My memories are in my head, and all the ones holding me back don’t own an item to remind me of them. Not that they should but I wish they did. I’d like to tuck them away, forget them for years or so. Instead I suffer, like tonight, before I go to sleep from all the things I miss. All the things I did with him, every which way he made me feel. Tonight is different, however. I feel as though I’ve come to terms with my sadness now. He was never good for me, he was intoxicating. I—I was intoxicated by him, by the way his words made shit in my brain, and stayed there for years on end, so he would always have one stupid fucking foot in the door. The door he constantly reopened, and I let him. 

I’m leaving, I owed it to myself. Second chances are rare, and I’m so thankful a special someone granted me worthy of one. 

Goodbye, I pity you. I wish you the best of luck with whatever you do and where ever you go. Please don’t ever contact me again, and please don’t attend our 10 year high school reunion. 

You’re keeping me from sleeping.
Dear God, grant me the strength to forget. I don’t want to love him anymore. I don’t want to go through this again.