Back story on my latest fuck up, if you want to hear it. Wait, nobody follows this fucking blog, so nobody will hear it. It's a good thing too, nobody would bother wasting their time reading this angst ridden bullshit.
I've been smoking for the past year and a half, not anything super addicting like a pack a day, but closer to a pack every 2/3 weeks. I never smoked around her, as she hated it, and the only times she every approached me about it was at parties when I was smoking cigars with friends.
After post, when she made it apparent she hated me, but still wanted to be friends, read previous sad posts, you'll see, I went to about a pack a week.
After post, when she made it apparent she hated me, but still wanted to be friends, read previous sad posts, you'll see, I went to about a pack a week.
Three weeks ago, after feeling disgusted by my two + packs a week, I decided to "quit". It lasted for three weeks, until today, when she started giving me the fucking silent treatment for no apparent reason (I'm sick of hearing "I didn't have anything to say, you weren't trying to talk to me," as an excuse). I've smoked a pack today, and it felt fucking great.
I decided to tell her about it.
Shit hit the fan.
I decided to tell her about it.
Shit hit the fan.
"Oh good. I'm relieved. That means the tar seeping into your alveoli and paralyzing them isn't as viscously spread through your lungs as I first thought. I beg to differ that smoking, quitting, starting again, and then asking for help quitting will inevitably lead full circle. Again. I'm sure someone is willing to help you quit. But it isn't me. Especially after you lied to me. Why do boys have to lie to me? Have I not proved how angry I get? Am I that inconsequential that it doesn't matter?"
I've lie to you about a nasty habit I wanted to keep to myself, and you've treated me like shit, made me feel like shit, worthless, and clearly never anyone you could love.
I've lie to you about a nasty habit I wanted to keep to myself, and you've treated me like shit, made me feel like shit, worthless, and clearly never anyone you could love.
If it were anyone else, I'd try to make up and leave you alone, never to bother you again. However, it's you, and I love you, and I'll always love you, even when there is absolutely no chance this side of Hell of myself ever to know your love.
Next time I'll be sure to hit a vein. Save you the trouble of killing me from the inside.
