I'm Over It

Better get this one fast because my libations are painfully wearing off. And so come the gloves.

I'm embarrassed that the first thing I wanted to do was call you. Something I didn't have the courage to do sober. But all that did was make me sadder. I should have learned my lesson the last time.

You probably doesn't care about me. Frankly, you probably don't even think about me. And guess what? That fucking hurts. Don't get me wrong. I'm embarrassed that I think about you. I hate it. I hate it and I hate you. I don't care what anyone says about closure and moving on and not giving someone your time or emotion. As of now, I just about hate you. And it took numerous amounts of drink to allow me to admit it, but I really do hate you for what you did and how you made me feel. I hate that I'm hot, sleepy, half-drunk, sad, and alone. It doesn't make me weak or any less of a woman to say that I miss you and hate you at the same time. Because I do.

I have no faith in men. None at all. Any of them. Except for a choice few, most of whom are related to me.

Again, tomorrow if I come to my senses, I might take this post down. If you missed it, you didn't need to know.