Telling someone you want nothing to do with them and then checking their blog five times a day is not normal behavior.
I have sources. I have friends. I know that when you type ‘s’ into your computer at home the first suggestion is my url. I know that you still have my art on your walls. And even if I didn’t know those things, the fact that you find untagged posts under readmores on my blog a few hours after I post them is disturbing.
Please. Go live with Rory. Forget about me. I’m not lying, even if you want to think I am. Bri was right when she told you that if you apologized, I’d listen, and we could let this go. I WISH I was lying. All I ever wanted was to love you. And now I feel uncomfortable enough that opening my ask box gives me a panic attack, and that I feel like I have to move.
It’s over, okay? You made Bri really uncomfortable when you tried to win her back with art after posting all sorts of insults to her (and I hope she doesn’t mind me saying this for her, but we’ve talked about it. Extensively.) Any chance you had at getting her ‘back’ (????) is long gone. I’m trying to reach a point of logic with you. Do not think that I will ever try this again.
It’s taken me half a year to recover any sense of self. You’ve done enough, okay? You really have. It’s not fun anymore for me. Why is it still fun for you?
I’m not involved in King Steve. I haven’t been on your blog at all since January, except for the times that you’ve reblogged me. The shit I said last month about it being fun to be involved slightly with the people who are mainlining it is long gone. I’m tired.
I tried. I failed. Let it be. I honestly pity you on a level. I think that you live in a bubble of your own making, and I think that you think you’re the protagonist. You aren’t. No one is. All you can do is keep a tenuous grasp on your own strands of life.
Stop appropriating people’s problems, too. Putting Rachel’s scar on a character? Not cool. Not kosher. I also really don’t like how you’ve been claiming that your friends raped you ever since I came out about that. It’s not a happy fun time experience. I’m not saying that for attention. It took me five months to use the r-word after EXTENSIVELY discussing it with MULTIPLE people, whether or not that constituted what it was. Bri doesn’t appreciate you saying that a butter spreader equates to self-harm, and telling her and Jess to fuck off when they came over because they were afraid you were going to kill yourself (legitimately worried, like many of us were about you?) Also kind of a shit move. You’re not autistic, either. I knew something was up there, but they’ve seen your papers.
I know you won’t listen to me, but I’d suggest leaving the internet for a while. Take a step back and look at your choices. Look at your mother. Look at every lie you’ve told (and I can think of more lies than truths.)
Please don’t try to find me. I implore you. Leave me be.