You are my yellow paint.

I hate everything.

SO, I went out last night.

It was supposed to be PERFECT. I spent ALL DAY getting ready. ALL. DAY.

I wore a super hot outfit, I learnt how to do the smoky goddamn eye, I bought tequila, I made sure to NOT drink too early, I wore heals, I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT.

I WAS GONNA GET THE D.

Long story short, I did not get the d...

I got the d as in "drunk-ass-fuck-mother-fucker-who-forgot-that-you're-not-supposed-to-mix-liquor-with-your-medication-and-that-it's-a-definite-no-go-when-you-have-no-cocaine-in-your-system-to-balance-it-out-and-no-food-either". I got that kind of d times 10.

I HAD A FULL FUCKING BACHELOR PARTY BUYING ME DRINKS AND INVITING ME TO THEIR AFTER PARTY. Goddamnit.

This all happened because of fucking love. Fuck love. I hate love. Love fucked me up.

If I hadn't fallen in love do you know where I could BE right now?

I can't get him out of my fucking head. Nothing is better than him. Nobody is funnier, sweeter, cuter, comfier... than him.

I start drinking and all I want is to drink more and more and more until I pass the fuck out so I can escape the thought of him, even though he's always in my fucking dreams too.

The other day he said he had a dream that we had sex together in this bed that was in the middle of the ocean.

The other day he told me about how Morgan Freeman's daughter has the same name as me, and I said my name is still better than hers, and he said, "it sure is".

The other day he called me "hun".

NOW, he won't talk to me at all. At all.

I've had Noah Cyrus', "Make me (cry)" stuck in my head for three days straight.

I don't get it.

I think I'm fine and then a stupid incident like this happens and I'm all in pieces again. I think I'm fine and then suddenly I'm actively trying to find a way to "accidentally" kill myself; because I don't give a shit. I don't give a shit about any fucking thing.

With him gone, I've totally reverted back to who I was before, except worse. Because NOW, I know what it's like to have him. NOW, I know what he's put me through. NOW, I know what it's like to have love, and to have lost love.

I hate him. I hate him. I fucking hate him.

"You're in my veins, you fuck."

Love is the worst thing in the world. I wish I could forget that it exists. But at the same time I'm conflicted with the fact that it's the only thing worth living for. Like, nothing is better than having somebody by your side. Nothing is better than living with your best friend. Than waking up to hugs and kisses, than being held when you cry, than having someone tell you it's all right when you wake up from a bad dream... THIS is a bad dream. I know it'll pass (this feeling that is), I know it'll "get better". But looking at my track record, it's hard to imagine anything getting "better".

Not only because my life sucks, but because I crave destruction.

Whenever I feel myself getting better, it makes me sad and makes me feel like I'm boring and unoriginal and petty. How does that make sense? It doesn't.

Yesterday I watched this video that talked about an experiment that A.E. Fisher conducted with puppies. Basically revealing the fact that mental uncertainty plays a huge role within attachment, and love as a whole.

It's not healthy, it's not how it should be, but it's how it is. Puppies shown only love, or only hate, didn't love the researchers as much as the puppies who were unsure as to what they were going to receive at any given moment.

People don't fall in love with abusive people. That's just not how it works. It's always a relationship that's really good and really bad at the same time that makes people come back, even when they know they shouldn't. I think that that's why it's harder for people to get over these types of relationships. It's an addiction to some weird concoction of painful bliss.

Ugh... I hate myself.

But I hate BB more.
I hate that I love the stupid fuck.