Chelsea (supaflyyyy) wrote in notes_2_my_ex,

big black hole's gonna eat me up someday.

I don't know who I am anymore.

You've twisted and yanked and spun me around so much, I don't know who the fuck I am. Sure, most people would say "Hey, you're not supposed to know who you are at this age," but fuck that. At least I had an idea.

I can't blame this entirely on you - I had a part in this too.
I should've just exited your life the minute you started doing shit.
I should've run, but I didn't. And now look where you have me.

Are you proud of me? Are you proud of this?
Or do you not care, just like everything else?
Some girls have so much to say, but can't because of being scared of the reaction from the person in question.
But me?
I have a fucking novel locked up in my brain, but I can't say a word BECAUSE IT WOULDN'T MAKE A LICK OF FUCKING DIFFERENCE.

You came, you conquered.
Both somewhat literally as well as figuratively.
Are you happy now? Are you?
Cliche as it sounds, you broke my spirit.
... or whatever the fuck they're calling it these days.

You're probably going to blame this all on me.
"You should've given up."
"You knew the consequences."
"I didn't make you do anything."

Didn't you, though?

Somehow, even after all the shit you've put me through, I don't think you're a complete and utterly worthless fucktard.

I'm just starting to, that's all.

There comes a time when even I, the master of not giving up at this shit, gets sick and fed up.

You lied.

And you probably aren't going to read this - not that I care if you do, it's for my benefit more so than yours - because once again, you don't care.

This isn't even HALF of what I have to fucking say to you.
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