12 November 2009
Today Paul and I got into a fight. Stupid and painful, like all fights. I got mean, like a rotten drunk, nasty and twisted. Words just come out, and it feels better to say them. He's like that too, though. It feels like he's worse than me because what he says actually hurts. I always leave our fights feeling shattered and wobbly, like I've just been blasted though a glass wall and stabbed a thousand times with tiny little knives.
He told me he finally understood why I have no friends. It felt like a scene in slow motion- I felt it hit me in slow motion. The words reverberated around in my skull. Bouncing through me in shock waves and making me recoil. I felt myself crumble inside. I felt my face crumble on the outside. I wasn't strong any more. There wasn't anything left to say to him. The tears were coming fast, but I felt I had to stay there, make him see for just a second what he had actually done- if he was capable of seeing that. "That was a horrible thing to say," I told him. The tears started to fall down my face, I couldn't stop them, so I left before the rest of me crumbled and there wasn't anything left.