I’m pissed. I’m pissed that I’m pissed. I’m even more pissed because I know the anger is just a cover up for being hurt. I have no right to be hurt and/or pissed. If I had had the opportunity I would have done the same thing. I think it also pisses me off that I didn’t have the opportunity. I feel cheap, I feel sorry for myself, I feel like nothing. I hate it, and I hate it that it gets to me. It shouldn’t. I think it partially gets to me because it destroyed a small illusion that I was allowing myself to indulge in: it was safe because I knew I had control over the situation. That safeness allows me to experience something that I feel I need, without having to compromise some other things. It’s selfish, so why am I feeling this way? If I really did have control, I wouldn’t be affected like this. My little sense of control, my little constructed situation, was just completely shattered. I think I’m through with it, and it’s hypocritical of me – not to mention really mean. It just won’t be the same anymore, it’s broken – and I’ll always feel that it is. I can’t be fake, I hated having to swallow it and not show how it affected me. I hate this. I’m so mad. I keep thinking about, imagining every little detail – thinking about what I was doing, what I was feeling. Fuck it. Fuck it all.