The First Cut Is Always The Deepest

I promised myself I’d try and post every day.

But what can you honestly write about every day without sounding like a prized moan?

I mean I had a weird ass dream last night that one of the girls in my hockey team (and not the one I actually think it is) is dating my ex (the coach – and yes cue the “don’t shit where you eat” remark all you like) and it made me livid. There was nasty comments (mainly me pointing out that she’s to stupid to achieve anything and he’s stuck in a dead end job that makes him look like someone who couldn’t succeed as a police officer due to their lack of an IQ and decided to do security instead), skimpy bathers and creepy ass hotels that let you into a movie theatre wearing bikinis and no shoes. I MEAN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. I’m never ever ever having hot chocolate before bed EVER again.

But when I woke up it also gave me that sinking realisation that I was far from over that over-confident-chimney-smoking-snap-back-wearing boy and that I really hadn’t let go in any way what so ever. It was crushing. I was lying in bed freezing cold and struggling to breathe. It was like I was suddenly drowning in all the emotions I’d felt the day I realised I was in love with him but that there was no way in hell we’d ever make the distance. He wasn’t ready, hell he’ll probably never be ready. But here I am stuck with all these feelings and no boxes left in my mind to store them.

Can I buy more boxes? More brain boxes that is. For storing all of the things I don’t know how to deal with. Seriously. I don’t even. I need something to clean out my brain. Like a brain vacuum? Suck up all the crap all the boys and when I say all I mean all I mean the ones that don’t call and the ones that call too much, the ones that buy me flowers for weeks then stop without a note, the ones that want to see me more than I can even comprehend and the ones that are completely oblivious to the feelings they stir.

And what sucks even more is that YOU ALL read this.

And then get all offended and hurt and blah about it and make me deal with your tantrums and your pain and your issues with the realisation you’re not perfect and not every girl is going to want to be your damsel in distress.


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