I'm so freaking tired. Perhaps it is affecting my mood, because my hatred for certain people is twenty times worse than usual. I mean, what. The hell. Is her. Problem. Seriously. She needs to get her act together. Why? Because she doesn't care. Hang on, back up a moment, let me repeat that.
She. Doesn't. Care.
At all. She just... doesn't give a shit. She doesn't care about her appearance. She doesn't care what people's opinions are. She doesn't care about her schoolwork. What does she care about? Sex. Yup, she is a nymphomaniac. And that's it. She has the 'love of her life' to take care of her – why the hell should she do anything else? He's not her true love. She's in love with her lust. She's in lust with him – not in love. And she doesn't realize it. She doesn't want to realize it. She'd punch me in the face for even suggesting it.
She pisses me off. So much.
Oh, have I mentioned the pregnancy scares? She's freaking seventeen, for God's sake. But you know, she's thought she was pregnant tons of times. Disturbing? Yes. There are also certain things I never wanted to know about her. Such as where she's had sex. (I never want to set foot in her house again.) Or that her parents purchase her condoms. (The empty wrappers are on her bedroom floor.) Or that she has lube, and carries it around in her purse. (That His-And-Her stuff. Pink and blue bottles. You know what I'm talking about.) Oh, God forbid, actual details of her sex life with her boyfriend. (Complete with pictures and video! The only cost is your eyesight.)
Ha ha, yeah, okay, no.
What started this entire thing were the events of the other day. So we were standing there, in our corner in the morning, as usual when she starts screaming. I was talking to two of my friends at the time, but this simple action grew increasingly more difficult by the second, until we had halted our conversation completely, turned, and just stared at her. She was yelling at the girls – no... demanding – that they stop staring at our gay friends. Now think a moment: If you saw two males holding one another, wouldn't you stop and stare a bit? It doesn't matter what your personal orientation is, nor whether you're a homophone or not. You'd stare because guess what? You have these wonderful little things in you head that allow you to see. What're those again? Oh yeah. EYES. And while I was staring, she continued to scream at them.
And then my head met the wall. Numerous times.
I remember when she used to be clean. When she was thin. When she wore slightly less revealing, and matching, clothes. When she wasn't such a bitch. When she cared about school and life and everything else. When she was actually pretty cool to be around. I remember when she used to be my best friend. Sometimes I wonder what happened to that girl. I wonder when I lost her. And I wonder, constantly, whether or not it was inevitable that she would become was she is today. Something tells me it wasn't inevitable, even that I can get that girl back. But another part – the more logical part – tells me that there was nothing I could do about it. And that's the side I believe. It's too late. She's too far gone. I'll never see her again.
I miss her.
But time's passed. I've made new friends, made strong bonds even stronger. I'm surrounded now by people I love and would never trade away. Except for her. I'd give her up in a split second. No second thought. And it's alright. 'Cause I have my real friends now.
And I wouldn't give them up for the world.
