He's The Devil In Disguise, A Snake With Blue Eyes....

Mood: ?

Meds: 5 pm

Sleep: 12 glorious drugged hours

Other: Yes, it is 6 am. I forgot to blog until now. Work, work, work.

Fangbunny and I have been discussing sex and relationships tonight. Apparently, we both suck ass at it. She posted a blog about it on her personal blog, so I'm going to post a very, very short one about the same thing before I fall into bed.

I suck at relationships. Mostly because I've never had a functional one. NEVER. I don't just mean romantic relationships, either. My friends, my family, my everything. I never learned how to be anything BUT dysfunctional, and I fear that at this point in my life, I never will.

There's only been one man in the entire world that I ever cared enough for to try to change that. But it seems our relationship was more dysfunctional than all the others I've had in my life put together. I'm willing to accept my part of the blame in that, but I've also matured enough to know that I'm not the only one who had a hand in it.

You see, the person I'm talking about is a person I often refer to as Sir Asshat. I love this man more than life itself. But he, apparently, hates me. I've offered more than one olive branch, only to have it ignored completely because I suppose I've done something so horrible that I don't deserve to have my offering of peace acknowledged, much less accepted.

Yet, still I miss him, and still I love him. I can go long periods of time without consciously thinking about him, but the bastard pops up in my dreams. This whole situation (or lack thereof) is certainly not helping my relative state of mind, either.

On one hand, I want to say that it'll be a cold day in hell before I ever initiate any sort of conversation with him ever again after all the shit he's pulled. On the other hand, I really miss him. I know he reads this blog, or at least I guess he still does. I don't know if it's because he still loves me (assuming he ever did) or because I've turned into some kind of freakish sideshow for him. You know, kind of his own personal Jersey Shore--a trainwreck so bad you can't bring yourself to look away.

I'm not posting this in hopes that he'll see it, mind you. I'm posting this for me. I need to get this off my chest. It needs to be on paper instead of constantly floating around in my head.

My heart, while it's been ripped out, shredded to pieces, stomped on, and lit on fire, still belongs to this fucking asshole, and I sincerely hope he misses me, too, instead of getting off on my misery.

Ok. Bedtime. I hope I don't hate myself in the morning for this post. Night, all.