My Black Hole Heart

Dear Diantha:
You're stubborn, melodramatic, a real class-act. I'm going to be perfectly honest with you here, because I know you'd do just the same to me if you were online right now. If you hadn't have left for "my own good." More like yours, am I right? So I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, and I'm going to tell you that I am sick of hearing you complain about how the kids at your school don't like you. You're the one who's always telling me I shouldn't care about what the schooltaunts say. Well, here's the thing, sweetcheeks. You're a pot. And you're calling the kettle black. Count me out from your little ravings nowadays. Count me out from all your I-HATE-EVERYTHING-OH-MY-GOD ordeals. What advice can I give you? Call 1-800-DEAL-THE-FUCK-WITH-IT.

I'm sick of you criticizing everything because you haven't taken a little blue pill yet. Why don't you just get it over with and start shooting up heroin? I mean really, if that's what it's going to take for you to finally calm the fuck down, then go ahead, I'm done trying to convince you that things are going to be alright. Know why? Because I DON'T EVEN KNOW THAT THINGS ARE GOING TO BE ALRIGHT. I'm telling you that I am ready and willing to kill myself, and what do you shoot back with? "Well I'm going to drop out because I don't have friends." Wow, what a good reason to throw your life away, some emo kids didn't like you! Take a look around, you brat, emo kids hate everyone who isn't already part of their group. Punk kids hate everyone who isn't already part of their group. Do you know why the only people you fit in with are Cherie and Robin and Mercedes? Because you FUCKING didn't try, that's why. You didn't try to talk to the freshmen, you didn't try to make friends with them. You sat back and you waited for them to fall for you, and now you complain because the only group you "fit in" with is the group that you already knew.

You're probably reading this, thinking "Well Jesus, Andi, I don't see you being a chatterbox charmante." And then, you yell at me for having friends at Strest. Look at where you are, Diantha, look at how miserable you are because you didn't try, and now look where I am. At least I tried. I said hello to somebody because I knew I wouldn't survive without at least one new person. I'm not leaving you, I promise, but God. When you put on this whole snot attitude? Maybe I will leave you.

What I'm trying to say is, don't drag me down into your hell-swamp because you think I should be in your place. Don't criticize what you KNOW is my favorite show, all because "noooobooddddyyyyy taaaaalks" to you. I don't give a flying fuck what you thought when you saw the new episode of Scrubs. Know why? Because your opinion has nearly become dead to me. Your opinion, in my mind, is now the opinion of a walking cliche and a narcissist, who will never be happy with what they have. You have Joe. But does that stop you from cutting yourself to bits and getting high as a kite? No. You have Patrick. Does that stop you from whining about some faux-hardcore bitch? No. I know that I'm not the perfect candidate for anti-hypocrisy policies. But MY GOD. I know that I have Jason, that's the thing that always keeps me going. I'm willing to bear out this Strest experience if it means I can be with him. I'm even willing to let my own hopes and dreams down, if it means that the future will be bright. But you? You're a downer. You're a raincloud kid that can't get over the fact that High School sucks for everyone. You're a liar and a fake.

And I always thought you were the most tangible thing I had.