April, 1995

I am doubly furious and disgusted now. I can’t stand to think about you or us or what just happened. I can’t believe you’re just going to go out to your party like that’s important to you.

You wish I had more going on in my life, fuck you, I have plenty going on and I still make room for you. You just don’t know what I have going on because all we ever talk about is you, all we ever focus on is you and your stress and your life and I’m just a fucking piece of trash, you just can’t even stand to deal with me.

You were yelling at me to get out of your house. You told me to go fuck myself. You told me you were going to call an ambulance because I wouldn’t stop crying. Go fuck yourself, you said.

I punched my legs after you screamed at me how I was crazy and you wanted me to get the fuck out. If that’s so wrong then how come it was okay for you to hit your head against the wall? Because I wasn’t leaving fast enough, you were going to be late for your party.

You act like I’m so terrible; you just can’t deal with me. I don’t think I’m so terrible. I don’t think dealing with me is so hard. I don’t think it’s terrible if I was crying, why do you have to go make it so terrible?

Banging your fucking head against the wall is better than dealing with me. Why is dealing with me such an enormous issue? I thought I was your ally not your foe

I try to talk to you and you stomp on me and you tell me to get out. I don’t think you’re so terrible. I get tired of being the terrible one.

There was no reason for you to treat me that way. I have not treated you that way. I never want to be treated like that again.

Maybe you don’t think I have a right to feel bad. Well I was sick of being ignored and put down. I thought we loved each other.

You never asked me what I wanted to do, you just told me what you were doing and whether I could come along. When you wanted to fondle me or fuck me you just did but if I wanted something I was wrong for even asking.

I hate you. I feel so rejected and awful I don’t even want to live. I have needs too you selfish lousy prick. Who holds you and comforts you when you feel like shit, who puts up with all your criticism and misdirected hostility and your lack of consideration and understands, and doesn’t blame you, and tries to let you know you shouldn’t feel bad or wrong or strange or alone

ME

I DID

I WAS GOOD TO YOU.

I wasn’t bad to you.

We weren’t right for each other to begin with. I don’t think I’m “too much.” You’re easily as difficult as me. The whole thing was rotten from the start.

(To read the girl bomb diaries in chronological order, click here.)