Claudia’s graduation dinner was really fun! There were definitely points in the night where I felt uncomfortable, but that was at fault of the presence of severed friendships and not at fault of the party itself.

I bonded with Alexandra (Oh God, excuse that awful pun that was wholly accidental) which was pretty rad. Stoked that I don’t feel awkward around her anymore. JUST IN TIME FOR HER TO BE OUT OF EAST THOUGH HAHA MY LUCK??!?

Anyway, it was a lovely night. Sean looked so gosh dang handsome.

I made the mistake of checking John’s twitter about half an hour ago to see if he said anything generally negative or sad (because he’s with Sean right now, and I’m very worrisome). Instead I ran into his “I did it for him, not you.” subtweet.

I literally said “Can you do that for him?” when I asked him to spend the night with Sean.

Maybe I pissed you off by saying “Thank you” at the end of the phone call, but I only asked you because everyone else was busy.

I don’t think you’re an exceptional friend, John. Matter of fact, I think you’re a really bad friend. I feared for someone I love, and Saul was busy, Sarah was out of town, and I don’t have any of his other friends’ numbers. You were literally my last choice on who to call.

But the main point here is that I didn’t care that you were last on my list, or that I had to call you, or ask you to do something for Sean. None of that shit mattered because all I was thinking about was Sean. The fact that you took time to subtweet about me just makes your immaturity and selfishness shine brighter.

I’m nothing but nice to you, you inconsiderate scum of a person. You’re a poor excuse of a friend. You’re a poor excuse for anything, John, and you will spend your life pretending otherwise.

I hope you read this and realize that the world doesn’t revolve around you and your masks, and your fake laughs, and your desperately hidden emotions that make you cry about your mom. Success doesn’t matter when you look in the mirror and feel disappointed.

I asked you FOR Sean. It’s a shame that being a shoulder for your “best friend” is a chore to you, and not a given. You’re a shame.

If anyone’s curious: I just burned a batch of cookies and one of my coworkers texted me and apparently there’s a mandatory food handler’s card class that I was enrolled in and that I have to go to tomorrow at 4pm. When I planned on celebrating my 6 month anniversary with Sean. Also, when my brother picked me up today I has apparently accidentally fallen asleep and didn’t answer his phone calls for 20 minutes and that also made me feel like shit.

I’m tired and I haven’t finished my Junior Research Project.

PSA: I’m a person, too, so everyone can start treating me like one now.

Maybe if I actually did something? MAYBE IF I ACTUALLY DID SOMETHING?

No, fuck you. Having a job and going to school is a whole lot of something. Sorry you’re a pampered fuck up.

Sorry I didn’t have children that are eleven months apart with another pampered fuck up. Sorry that I can function without dependency on a significant other, and you cannot. Sorry that I got a job when I was sixteen-years-old, and you aren’t even looking for one as a 21-year-old mother of two. Sorry you’ve moved back into your mother’s house four times. Sorry you can’t earn nice things so you have to steal everyone else’s.

And to think how much I help you when you’re down. You’re scum to me and I will never respect you. 

I just got out of my third hour—proctoring for my history teacher’s senior Government class—and we have a lot of long talks now that the seniors have graduated and there’s nothing left to do. I have a feeling these talks are going to mean a lot to me even years from now.

He told me that I’m very bold, and so self-aware that it surprises him when I speak about things. He told me that I have so much potential to continue being all of these wonderful things and also become even more wonderful things, but that I’m also insanely analytical. He said he hopes that my over-analyzing won’t mask my courage and boldness.

I wish I knew what I wanted to do with myself. I don’t want to let these important people that tell me very meaningful things to be disappointed by me. Ever.

there are people here
who will hate you
and step on you
and spit in your eyes when they gleam the brightest
and tell all their friends about the intimate things you did
in the privacy of their bedroom
with all your clothes off,
and all your scars on
and all of you ribs
protruding out,
with your lungs pumping
and they’ll tell them about your weird toes
and how bitchy you were,
how clingy you are,
what a god damn emotional wreck you are,
how worthless you are
and they will laugh
and they will go to bed at night
without you on their mind
and it will hurt you
because the worst thing you ever did
was love them.

I am so sick of loving you without reason, despite you giving me so many reasons to loath you wholly. I am so sick of loathing myself for only half-loathing you. I am so sick of myself because of you.

I feel sad because my brother’s having more fun with my sister, Charlea, then he did me. I can hear them laughing and running around in my house.

I asked him to go out to eat tonight. We did. Now he’s home with my sister, joking and laughing with her.

I wish I didn’t come off as the huge bitch that I do to my family. I wish I wasn’t a huge bitch. I wish that I wouldn’t be everything that I hate about other people.

My self-hatred is a cycle, and it’s steady and stern.

I buy things when I’m sad

I wish I wasn’t so kind. I wish I was as awful to some people as they are or have been to me. I wish I wasn’t so kind to those people who have been awful to me.

Today, East’s newspaper, The Messenger, came out with their issue all about sex which I participated in by letting them write an article about me. It was a pretty alright article about general consequences of slut shaming, and it represented me pretty well with a few minor flaws that, for the most part, no one but me will notice. I’m happy with it. 

What I’m not happy with is a lot of the things people have said and the tweets people have posted relating to, not only the article written about me, but also the issue as a whole (Which addressed varieties of double standards, sexism, discrimination, and what’s right/wrong, etc.) It was expected, but also disappointing.

On a more personal level: I’m very annoyed with John for being a hypocrite. He tweeted about how people shouldn’t care about whether or not Toni is a virgin (There was also an article about virginity that Toni participated in - it was also a pretty good article) — which is great because he’s right, people shouldn’t care — but what bothers me is that he was one of the key people who participated in slut-shaming me during my rough parts dealing with it. I wouldn’t be upset by his hypocrisy if he had apologized to me for calling me a cunt, a slut, and all the other horrid things he called me, but he never did. Worse than just simply not apologizing, he’s gone out of his way to tell me that he doesn’t think he needs to apologize; that he doesn’t think he’s said anything wrong, and that he also doesn’t regret anything he’s said/done to me. That’s what’s absolutely aggravating to me. 

You cannot be absolutely horrid to someone, specifically say that you will never apologize because you morally agree with what you said to that person, and then act a completely opposite way to someone because you happen to agree with them as a person more than the other for some reason or another. That makes you a bad person, and it amazes me.

Sex is like, really cool.

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I’m excited for Valentine’s Day. I’m going to send flowers to work for Nikki — she said she’s always wanted a boy that would send her flowers, but her boyfriend isn’t the type of guy to do that, at least not right now — and I’ve got little cards for everyone else. Sean’s going to be spoiled (as always), and I, on a pretty meaningless whim, got John a little more thoughtful Valentine than most others. I think it’s mostly because he told me he finally feels like he’s over me last night, and I sort of just had to accept it. Maybe now we can be friends again without it being “wrong.” I don’t know… I doubt it. I’ll always have stupid tuggy-heart feelings whenever he says practically anything. Shit’s tough when you’re a teenager with tough teenage emotions, y’feel me? Y’feel me.

In other news, I have like two friends that don’t at least partially hate me. Two friends at most.