whirlwind and lightning bolts

Ok people, this is the place I ramble in when I’m upset…so no sympathy, kapish?

Nothing’s quite right. The past one month has been a roller coaster…of events and emotions I could never prepare myself for. Yet, I’m unusually numb…like I don’t care. My mind and my heart are playing tricks on me…the pain doesn’t even seem real and yet it’s real enough to keep me awake all night, night after night and make my heart ache – literally. I’m not strong enough to deal with so much all at once…and so I do what I do best – I keep pushing it back, hoping it’ll disappear somewhere in the already cluttered, cobwebbed past.

Something terrible happened recently. Right then, all I knew was that I needed my best friend because I didn’t want to be alone. She consoled me knowing I was crumbled inside; she coaxed me to cry, scream even if necessary. I just sat there looking down, fiddling with random objects…suffocated. She cried for me while I just sat there. I’m drained of all energy to react to pain and recover from it. Or maybe somewhere in my subconscious mind, I don’t want to anymore. I’m tired of being hurt every single time. Maybe I want to be completely destroyed…because from there, the only way is Up. I’m stuck somewhere in between and sinking so agonizingly slow that I can feel every painful jab at my soul.

On a lighter note…I did something different and outrageous this time around. I usually am a collected person even when I’m angry (USUALLY). I’d much rather ignore dirt and vent out here instead. This time, I didn’t bother. The bitch deserved it. Here’s an excerpt from a recent text I sent to a dear friend:

“…I think you owe him and me an apology for behaving like a drunken slut. Just thought I’d remind you because you obviously don’t have the decency or the shame.”

Verbally, there was much more. A house mate tells me the Bong in me finally surfaced *snigger*

Drunken Slut is what she will be known as from now on. I like it.

I’m (usually) not the bitchy kind. I despise these damsel-in-distress kinds. But when one makes alcohol an excuse and throws herself at my guy in my absence? I will hurt you till you cry.

Yes, Hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned.