so fucking angry I wish I was dead.

April 1995

God how I wish I could talk to you sometimes.

I hate the way things are now, I hate the way we act about each other. I just can’t stand it. It’s so horrible and stiff and fake, and I’m so full of resentment and anger and I can’t tell if it belongs to you or if I just put it there.

I feel furiously depressed and wish I had never gotten close to you. Everything now is ruined and awful. It was much better when we were just friends.

I hate our relationship, I don’t want it to be like this anymore, it’s so push and pull all the time

and I’m sick of you, you pompous ass, you make me so fucking angry I wish I was dead.

Why do you even come around me. You’re so condescending and full of yourself. Who even asked you. We should have broken up at New Years.

You are such a fucking pain in the ass. I can’t believe I was on the phone with you, begging you not to break up with me, to give it a chance, and you telling me sorry it was just too much for you.

I hate you, and I hate your goddamn apartment, I’m sick of your fucking CDs and your TV and the way you act like you

own every single black female jazz vocalist, like you discovered them.

I’m so sick of you, showing off all the time and bossing me around about this and that, I’m sick of it. Who put you in charge.

I wish somebody would take care of me, I really do. I’m shaking from it. I wish somebody would be so tender and adoring and make love to me and then hold me a lot and then go bring me food in bed and get right back in and cuddle with me some more. I’d even get up and get the food, I always do everything!

I hate you! I do everything for you and what do you do for me? You don’t even support me on the most basic emotional levels, you’re always finding fault with me or telling me how I can do things better, I’m sick of it.

Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I’m beneath you?

I think I’ll kill myself to spite you. I think I’ll do it to intentionally ruin the rest of your life.

I hate life anyway. I hate myself and I hate the people around me. I’m so sick of them and the inane stupid things they say.

I want to be alone. My dream is to be alone in an apartment MAYBE with cats and never have to deal with anybody either in person or over the phone, just to be inside by myself and quiet, and have nobody asking me for anything, and not asking anything of anybody else.

I DON’T WANT TO BE IN THIS ANYMORE I WANT TO STOP SEEING YOU ROMANTICALLY UNTIL YOU GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND REALIZE WHAT A FUCKING PRIZE I AM, MANIC DEPRESSION AND ALL, THAT I AM STILL THE BEST GODDAMN

WOMAN IN THE WORLD, AND A SAINT, FOR PUTTING UP WITH YOU, and you devise some quick plan to immediately become a much better person for my sake, and it works, and you come up with some wonderful romantic and loving way of adoringly sweeping me off my feet, but by then it’s too late, and I have a much better-looking boyfriend who fucks me all the time, and is equally as smart as you, even if he hasn’t read “The Wasteland” and maybe he even has, you pompous fuckbag, you’re not the only goddamn person in the world who read “The Wasteland,” and ps you didn’t write it!

And Nina Simone doesn’t give a fuck about you!

And I hate hearing your voice in my head, I hate seeing your face in my head, I wish you would move to San Francisco and become gay, because I am really going to hate watching you hit on [Female Poet], though the 2 of you deserve each other, she’s such a fucking bizarre greedy annoying piece of shit too.

YOU FUCKER back when we were friends things were different. Things were much more equal then, then I was hot shit now I’m just shit. I’m just one more thing for you to deal with, and you never do, you never deal with me.

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