It's different this time.

It happened eight days ago.

And my god, that foreign, violent pain. He doesn't care anymore.

I have never tried harder to be strong, and while I've succeeded overwhelmingly, there are still moments when I crumble uncontrollably, when I dissolve into tears, when I think, my babe, my love, why did you have to leave me this way?

And I want him with everything, and I weep as though I'm weeping for my life, his cheating, his laziness, his immaturity disregarded.

It hurts like nothing else. WHY WAS IT ALWAYS BLONDES WITH YOU? Katelyn, Roxy, and this Kristian.

The one thing I asked him never to do to me. THE ONE FUCKING THING.

I can't hate her, and don't want to, and I can't hate him either. I can't do anything but fake it til I make it.

I don't know, though, because the general trend has been a detached sort of acceptance. I wish I could say that I don't sometimes stay up until five a.m., going over all the things in my head that I would've and could've done differently.

She's ugly. Mousy. Boring-looking. Completely unremarkable in personality from what I can read. And god, did he fuck her? I don't know. I don't know anything. Because he lied to my face even when I showed him what I found.

I haven't gone looking for any more answers because I'm trying to stay sober through all this.

There is no cushion this time. No other man to fall back on.

And he's just gone on his merry way, apparently fine. You could've thought his dog died for all the sadness he expressed.

And I know, in my head, that this was and is for the best. In the last year, I've grown up - he hasn't. And it hurt us, of course. But I thought he would change. I thought he would change to keep me.

No, of course not. I'm not worth getting a driver's license, doing laundry, not sleeping in until five, getting a job, not acting like a fucking manchild in general.

I dyed my hair and they say I'm so pretty, and last night I was on top of the world for that. It was a long fall back down.

I hate that I put my identity and self-worth in his hands. I hate that I gave so much of myself to him, accommodated him so fucking well, sacrificed huge parts of my life for our wellbeing. I hate that I stayed here, momentarily happy, only to watch us deteriorate.

And he gets to go away in September, start a new life with new people. I have to stay here. I damned myself. One more year for me in this fucking smog prison.

I don't think I love him anymore, but I don't know. He certainly doesn't love me anymore. Does that prove that it's not there, merely the evidence of doubt? If I have to question it, perhaps it does not exist.

I miss my best friend. I fucking miss my best friend.

I lost everything at once, and he had no qualms about it.

I always told him I hoped he'd hurt me first, because the guilt of what I did to Marc nearly ate me alive. But the pain inside is screaming for vengeance, and I'm doing my best to ignore it.

Cheated on. Thrown aside like trash.

I'm not special, I'm not interesting. I'm washed up, old news.

Please, anyone, make it stop hurting, please, please, please. I can't breathe, can't see when I sob this way, like there's a black hole in my stomach and it's pulling everything in.

I was so strong all week. I took it like a fucking champ.

So where did this spring from?

Ah, yes, two places:

1) She's commenting on everything he says, of course, now that we're through.

2) I was told not to visit the one person whom I really want to see.

And I just asked, why? Why is this not a good idea? And all at once I questioned everything and I broke because goddamnit I miss him and maybe Sasha knows something I don't but FUCK I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.

I didn't eat for four days and lost weight and now of course I've gained it back because I want to eat everything in sight. Wonderful. I can't have a single fucking thing, can I?

All his stuff is in a box in the closet, all our pictures are gone, all my ties to him are severed, even his screenname and phone number, but for whatever reason I can't stop looking at his facebook page. He hasn't said anything about anything - it's just business as usual. But it's like this masochist inside me is waiting for the day when he's in a relationship with her, or when they post pictures together, just so I can have the excuse I crave to rip my own skin off and chug cough syrup.

And did I mention that he broke up with me on the phone? Yes, courteous, mature gentleman that he is, he woke me up (I was in bed, sick) and gave me that whole "you're a good person but we're going in different directions" crock of shit.

Yeah, your cock is going in her direction. I fucking get it.

He was the one solid, comforting thing I had, honestly.

2010 has been a fucking terrible year. This is like the cherry on the rejection sundae. Everything I've tried to do has been an utter failure and now the one person I really, really needed cheats on me with some fucking substandard high school slut?

No, no. I should not call her that. She does not understand what she's doing. She is young and naive and incredibly fucking stupid. Getting angry at her is like beating a puppy for pissing on your shoes. It's not fair.

He deserves this wrath, this pain; he deserves to empathize, and my god, I hope karma fists him until he can't walk.

I don't know. I felt at peace with this last night. Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. Or maybe I'll still want to burn orphanages, I don't know.

A lesson, boys and girls: never choose men over your career or education, don't put all your eggs in one basket, and know that if they cheated to be with you, they will cheat ON you, no matter how fucking special they insist you are, no matter how different you feel you are, no matter how singular you feel the relationship is. Truth is, it's really not, and he will start to fuck you in a bad way.

I should've listened to my gut on this one. I knew something was wrong. He lied to me for a month and a half. For all I know he could've fucked that girl, come home, slept, then fucked me later that day.

I wish I'd been thinking clearly enough to punch him in the face.

The sacrifices I made, ooh boy.

And you know what? He never sacrificed a single motherfucking thing for me. NOT ONCE, NOT EVER.

I should've dumped him a long time ago, I know, but of course I'm stupid and optimistic and hope people will change and better themselves. Wow, how foolish of me.

I regret how pathetic I acted the day he broke up with me. I drove over to his house, cried, yada yada. I wish I had said "okay" and hung up the phone. I wish he thought that it didn't bother me either.

I hate this...I hate feeling this slighted, this humiliated, this worthless.

I feel so stupid for EVER thinking he'd treat me with more respect than he did the others.

Because what was I, in the end?

One half of a conversation, a piggy bank, an orifice.

It hurts. It hurts.