ihavebeenfloated

I’m done. Finished? I don’t know.

I can’t tell anyone the tale. The truth. What happened Wednesday night, Thursday morning? I don’t even know anymore. No one really knows. Not even all the people there really know. Almost everyone knows bits and pieces. One person knows the worst of it, but nothing else about it. Someone knows the tale composed of fiction, created to protect me, but that fictional tale is almost every bit as bad as the truth. The only thing that the fictional tale leaves out is my own personal feeling of absolute failure beyond anything I’ve really felt before.

The fact that I can’t bring myself to tell it to anyone makes it even worse. I was going to tell Greg but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I can’t talk to anyone. I just thought I could talk to Trista right now, because I can lay my failure on her and not really care, she’s already shit on me enough that I could probably tell her I ran over a baby and she wouldn’t actually be able to make me feel bad about it. But, no, apparently she’s at a party and even threatening to take someone else to The Dresden Dolls show isn’t enough to get her to step outside and talk to me for a few minutes.

Too bad for you, Trista, you stupid fucking cunt, that’s it for you. You might as well be fucking dead to me.

And to think, last week, at six in the morning, after I was winding down an already hectic night, right as I crawled into bed totally exhausted and so eager to fall asleep… I pulled myself right out of bed and spent an hour going to pick her up from a party that she was stranded at, just because I couldn’t bring myself to let her, or anybody, down. The first thing she really said when she got in the car, “I didn’t fuck anyone tonight, and I was drunk and stoned enough to, I’m kinda proud of myself,” I don’t even think I said anything in response to that. And she can’t even step outside of a party to talk to me.

I hope it was worth it you selfish bitch.

So, yeah, I can’t tell anyone. I can’t even bring myself to write about it, even in vague statements. I just can’t.

I let myself down. I let others down. I let my agendas get in the way of my scruples, and I paid for it in a big way.

I really haven’t felt so kicked down by the world in a long time. Not even finding Trista in bed with that guy, something that can still make my eyes tear up when I end up unexpectedly thinking of it, compares to how gutted I feel right now.

It’s one thing to be used by someone, and it’s one thing to be abused by someone, but it’s something else entirely when you use and abuse yourself and you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

I’ve never really felt like I failed myself. I’ve always been able to justify my failures, they’ve been small and petty, nothing really important. But this, this is where I have truly failed.