Remember when I said I was over it?

But then I also said I missed her.

I’m just all sorts of contradictions right now.

I thought I’d never talk to her again because she didn’t deserve and all that jazz. I don’t want to go back and read what I word-vomited about her but that’s really the gist of it, isn’t it? That I was over it and I don’t ever want to talk to her or about her ever again.

But then University happened and then it was just a shit show.

I remember reading a quote somewhere that hit me hard.

”If you still think about it in the shower, then you’re not over it.”

Which is… yes. It’s the truth. I’m not over it. I never was, am I? I still thought of it, with startling frequency ever since coming to the UK. I didn’t want to and I didn’t do it consciously. I didn’t force my brain to wander back to her.

It just happened.

If that makes me “not over it” then yeah, I’m not over it.

And I’m/you’re/the quote’s right.

I’m not over it.

I forgave her. I miss her. I want her back by my side because she was a corrupted sense of normality in my life. I missed her the moment I stopped talking to her but I didn’t want to admit it to myself.

Because I was a fucking coward. She’s the only thing that I remember being with me until the end of the school year. We were together and even though I guess it wasn’t the best relationship, it was still a great friendship. I enjoyed her jokes and her witty comments.

Going without it feels so weird.

I was impulsive and I blocked her on Snapchat and then I unfollowed her on Instagram, which I regretted almost immediately because she was on private and I couldn’t stalk her when the feeling struck me.

I thought it was somewhat curious when I saw her Instagram name changed, but I didn’t think much about it and assumed it was just another one of those emo episodes that she has.

But apparently, it wasn’t (like that) and a friend messaged me about it. She said she’s almost suicidal at that point and asked if we were still friends (because obviously, we were so close back then that her mental stability is actually tied to me) because if we were, I have to talk to her.

I already accepted the fact that I forgave her. I’m not mad at her anymore because I thought about the situation over again and again. I shouldn’t have dismissed her like that. I really shouldn’t’ve, but she also shouldn’t’ve been so dismissive about my feelings as well –

I’ll stop there before I go on another rant. Just accept it as it is. I was wrong. She was wrong. We were both wrong.

Against all better judgement I messaged her.

She messaged me back.

And immediately began to throw her emotional baggage on to me because she finally broke up with that douchebag and I should be happy.

I am happy, too, in a sadistic way where I’m happy it’s over and I’m happy she’s in pain.

I pretend to care because I want that sense of normality back. I don’t care.

I don’t care.

I’m just glad we might just finally talk again, even if it takes out half my lung out trying to make her understand that she doesn’t need to get back with a douchebag that has been nothing but a piece of shit.