Mark
2004-03-30 @ 10:38 a.m.

I fucking hate you. What part of that don't you understand?

Why do you have this insatiable need to hurt me because you're hurting?

I'm not sorry, Mark.

Say what you want to say, about me, about my friends, about David and Scott. Say anything. It's nothing more than marred lies. It's nothing more than the hurt you feel when you wake from your sick little fantasy world.

Don't you realize that even with everything you do, that the hurt you cause only makes me hate you more?

You said on Friday night that you were only trying to protect me. I've got news for you, you're the only thing I need protecting from.

How dare you call my work and leave me voicemails about David. About how you think the whole reason I want to go to Lubbock to see him is because he'll only "bang" me in his bed. You know nothing, and you obviously don't know me.

Has it ever occurred to you that I need to be with someone who loves me for me? Not for something physical, but for companionship, for friendship. David knows my soul, he's been through everything with me, including you. He was the one person who stood by my decision to marry you, then was my shoulder to cry on, to yell at, to hurt, when things went so very wrong.

Don't make the assumption that you're doing any good. You aren't, and you're only lieing to yourself.