Jen, this is stupid stuff:

“I (wont) blame people for the way they make me feel…It’s good to let them go. I (have caused) myself so much pain at their feet. They didn’t know what the hell was going on. There I was, bleeding at their doorstep, pointing my finger at them. Calling them heartbreakers, the dispatchers of despair. It was me all along. What I know; I can’t relate to them. When I try, I am filled with confusion and pain. I don’t know what to do with words. When I talk, they take on other meanings. I don’t get it right.

(I’ll) let it go. Hard at first. Miss(ing) the things that made me sick. To have a broken heart, to lose sleep over someone, to feel jealousy, to be amazed at the depths and the lengths that they will go and the places they will take you if you attach to them. Years of my life living for them. Hoping to be lucky enough to be part of the human experience, their world. To dream their nightmares, to be on the team. To spend eternities, lifetimes, rejecting them over and over yet running back, happy to be given another chance to reject them.

What a bad bucket of blood. To feel pain and feel good because you know that it’s all yours and finding out that it’s not. You got it from them. You’re merely a tenant, living off their scraps.

My pain (will define) me. Their pain, when ingested, distorts me. It weakens me, blinds me. I learn nothing. I don’t grow. I run headlong into their jail. That’s over with.”

~ Henry Rollins, Black Coffee Blues