Nobody plays me for a fool like that.

I have never met a more stupid person in my whole, entire life. So this is why ugly people don't sleep with pretty people. The ugly people can't handle realizing what they should be getting, and can't get.

Ugly Person is telling everyone he knows that the reason Boyfriend is upset with Ugly Person is because I told Boyfriend that I had sex with Ugly Person - but I didn't actually have sex with Ugly Person. I said it because I felt rejected, because Ugly Person wouldn't have sex with me.

What kind of person tells people this kind of fucking stupid story?! What kind of a fabrication is this?! Why the FUCK would I go and tell Boyfriend something so crushing and is so unbelieveably untrue if it were just that - UNTRUE?! I would like to post this letter to the people who are hearing this story.

There is someone in your midst, one of you, who is saying things that do not seem to be true.

This person is saying things that would suggest something that seems a little hard to believe. This person seems a little too hell-bent on making sure that everyone knows these things. This person has no proof of what he claims. If anyone could claim that this situation never happened, if only for the account of what this guy actually looks like and sleeps with, it would be me.

This person is actually claiming that he was approached by his best friend's girlfriend, and he is saying that Girlfriend is head over heels in love with this guy, and she tells best friend's friend, and is so badly rejected that, she is not someone who can take any kind of rejection, so she decides that the only way out of the situation is to tell Boyfriend that she had sex with boyfriend's best friend.

I'd hate to have that guy's conscience. I'd hate to have that guy's self-esteem. I'd hate to live in that guy's body. I'd hate to live in that guy's mind. When people start telling themselves that things did not happen the way that they did, and that it's okay to go on living with these "new" truths, you kind of wonder about people, what's really wrong with them.

People that lie to themselves really have serious issues. People that cut themselves have serious issues. People that cut themselves just to prove a point to someone, has issues.

This person belongs at Western State Hospital.

Why?

I am going to pick him apart, right down to the bone. And only he and I will know what really happened (Boyfriend knows; I told him the whole story, because THAT is the only way one can move on with their life and learn something, and be able to live with oneself). I can live with myself, what doesn't kill me, and this won't, will make me stronger.

Can you live with the lie that you have told yourself? How much do you believe what you've told yourself has happened here, in this situation? If you've done this now, will you tell yourself more lies of things that you've done, how you've treated people?

Did you know that pyschopaths and serial killers have the same mindset, the same habitual lying to themselves to cover up things, people they've killed? If you can lie to yourself now, then you know that you can now do what a psychopath serial killer can do. Can you live with that fact? Can you live with the facts?

I can.

1. Bipolar.
a. You are a child.

2. ADHD.
a. You are a child.

3. Pathological Liar.
a. You are a child.

4. Retarded suicide attempts; literally playing with the life you know.
a. You are a child.

5. Trying to fix everyone else so that there is no time to fix oneself.

6. Delusions of grandeur.
a. You are a child.

7. Even a pathological liar carries deep in his heart a desire for goodness and honesty and yet, because of painful emotional wounds, he believes that the world never has, and never will, recognize his pain. And so, to hide that pain from himself, he uses all the lies he can concoct to hurl at the world as he runs in fear from his own goodness.

8. Victim: Can you be a victim of yourself?

9. He couldn't have only been molested once, because he deduced things from the experience. That means he was molested more than once. If you don't stand up and take notice, consciously, then the past will repeat itself, and project iself into your future. You will become a victim of yourself. He has become, a victim of himself. A victim of his own loathing, his own carelessness.

10. Blame anyone but yourself.

I came to Boyfriend with the whole truth. I did not blame you for what happened. I told Boyfriend that it was my fault, even went so far as to say that you should not be blamed for what happened. I defended you, for crissake. You obviously know how to defend yourself, however.

I can tell you something about yourself: you despise yourself, deep down. You try to hide this from people, but sometimes it comes out without your knowledge. By cutting yourself, and especially in the way that you did cut yourself, you showed everyone that you despise yourself. You showed that you don't actually care for your well-being. But - you are floundering, because you also showed, by trying to sell this bullshit fabrication of a lie, that is so backwards it's hilarious, that you do care for yourself, because you took the time to try to lie your way out of this.

You are the ultimate coward. The ultimate scumbag. You are the person that robs a bank and gets caught on videotape - your face, on video - and when the police confront you, when the owner of the store confronts you, you STILL lie and try to cover your ass, just for the possibility that the people you robbed are as stupid and cowardly, as you.

You are a victim. You can't see your responsibility in anything you have ever done; it has been done to you. You're even angry that we don't believe the lie you've fabricated of what has happened, in your mind.

I have touched you closely. I have been close to you, and I know what you are. I have studied you. I have figured out what your story is and your issues are, somewhat. And in saying that, and knowing all that I can about you, I want you to know in all clarity:

I do not want to touch you with a 100-foot pole. I do not want to see your face. I do not want to see you at all. I do not want to hear your voice, or listen to anything that you have to say. I pity anyone who does touch you, who does look at your face, your body; I pity anyone who has to listen to what you have to say.

You are a parasite. You don't deserve any more attention than I have already given to you. You will not see my face, my body; you will not hear my voice, and you will not hear anything that I have to say. I pity you; but that is to give you too much attention. I do not care about you - I do not care what you look like, what happens to you, what anyone does to you; I do not care about what you feel, or what you have to say about anything: I don't care about you.

You will not get any more attention. I will not fuel your fire.

I'm not a stupid person; I just do stupid things.

Sometimes I just can't believe the things that I do. I have the brain to see that doing some things will be irreversible, or might change everything that I've built around me. And yet, I still find some way to do these horrible, or irreversible, things. I always own up to what I've done, but it does not change the fact that I've done these things.

I am glad that I posted while I was in this mindset, because there are always reasons I do things. Or decide to do these things. Whether they be "wrong" or "bad," I did them, and I reasoned that I needed to do them. I do not like to use excuses, so I will not. I deserve whatever comes to me, not because I am a "bad" person, but because I did something that will warrant people thinking "bad" things about me. I will face this, but for now, I am in my own world, and I will be changing the way that I do things from here on out.

I still cannot quite believe that Boyfriend has chosen to stay with me and work through this. I am not sure if it is that I am worth the effort, or if it is us that is worth the effort. Probably the latter, as I have been beating myself up over all of this. Not in a victim's way of beating oneself up, but in a way that will make me better in the end. I will be better in the end. I will have done something terrible, but I will be better in the end no matter what anyone says about me or does to me. Perhaps this is how I will learn not to let other peoples' opinions of me influence how I am and what I do in this lifetime. Perhaps it might be worth it in the end, in some sick way.

At least now I do not have to be involved, and now I have motivation not to be involved with the Albertson's drama club. They will hear about my part in the club, but then I will disappear, and no one will know where I've gone. Albertson's and home will somehow finally be separated. I will shop for groceries, toiletries, and goodies somewhere else. Somewhere where I am anonymous again. Somewhere where no one knows of what goes on behind the curtain.

Perhaps when, and if my name is slandered, it won't matter, because I won't care with whom my name is slandered. It won't make any positive difference in my new world, because they no longer exist. It no longer matters or makes any slightest sense of difference.

Boyfriend does think that I am a sexaholic. I never thought of it that way, but now that I have heard it said, there is some truth to it. Somehow an unbelieveable truth.

In one part of my thoughts, I wish to just cut lose from everything I've had in the past several years, and start fresh. Yank it all away, burn it all away, let it fly free back into the atmosphere. We were not a match, a fit. Redefine oneself.

But what, other than experience, would I gain from this? Would I learn how to pick up all of the blocks after I've scattered them all over my living room floor? Would I learn, in essence, that when I make a mess, I need to figure out a way to clean it up; even if remnants still remain? To deal with the choices I have made?

Indeed; but why can I not have both worlds. Why can't I meld them together, taking with me, the best from both sides of the argument in my head.

I suppose that someday, I might see a clearer pictures of what it is I am dredging through. For now, I do not know the whole picture, so I am a little blind as to what will come next. I foresee things improving, but being stubborn and quite sore for some time. I do not look forward to the latter.

That said, there is a family function this evening, and I do not look forward to Boyfriend acting as if nothing of importance has happened recently between us in our relationship. Boyfriend's dad will be passing me cocktails, and getting me drunk, and then he will somehow prod at me, and get me to tell him things that I would not, necessarily or ordinarily, say, to my Boyfriend's dad.

In fact, I am not sure how this evening will go at all. On top of all of this, I have been sick in bed, in the house, for the entire week, and I am tired of being inside, and tired of being sick. Perhaps this might be my excuse not to attend the festivities this evening. But I would hate to add to the disappointment which is lingering in the air, over all of us, today.

Ahh, Saturday afternoons.

Fuck normalcy.

Well, well. Here I am, again. I still have the same brain, the same body, and I am still alive. But interestingly enough, everything else changes.

Codependence.
Frequent bitchiness.
Hi-strung-edness.
Non-job-edness.
Sex-all-the-time-edness.

Yes, that's right; I am no longer dependent on Boyfriend, whom I am now living with. Normally, I would be frequently bitchy, no matter the situation, I would find a reason to be bitchy. I am only high strung when I am not getting enough sex. I now have a fresh, new job, which I actually enjoy, even though I don't enjoy getting up in the morning for.

And. . . I no longer have sex all the time. This is not a change that I wanted to occur. Boyfriend just decided that it is boring to have sex with me while I'm living with him. If I had known that my sex life would dwindle, I would not have wanted to move in so soon. And I've waited several years to move in with Boyfriend.

now I'm just sleeping with my boyfriend's friend. I was attracted to this friend as soon as I met him. I tried being nice; I just got frustrated and scared (dependent) that I might want to sleep with him, or that I would do something physical or something while I was influenced by herbal remedy. Well, I got tired of pushing him away and being a bitch, because that just isn't me. I was in a funk.

However, I am in another sort of funk, now.

I had Sex Hippie over, initially just to hang out, because I was bored, and I had started trying to be more friendly (as in: not bitchy, not as in: sexual). Unfortunately (or not so unfortunately), we were being very open and honest about life stuff, and perspective, etc., and the things going on in our lives lately. And he casually complimented how my ass looked. And then I told him that I've always been attracted to him. And then he told me he's been attracted to me since I met him.

And then we had more herbal remedy. And then we had alcohol. And then we went to the beach alone, together. We got more beer from a Canadian vacationer, who was settled on a large log, sketching the skyline as the sun was settling into the horizon.

And then I broke a bottle into a large area of sharp, jagged rocks. Then I giggled, and felt alive for the first time in a while. A little less high-strung. A little less bitchy. A little less seat-belted into my life.

And then we both noticed at the same time; an energy between us. I expressed interest in having more alcohol; more herbal remedy. We did not have matches for our cigarettes. We headed down the beach to find someone who had fire. There was a fire someone had been around earlier, when we first walked down the beach. We lit our cigarettes with the still-hot coals. We got the fire going, because it seemed too lucky.

The energy grew, at least in me. The energy sparked, and shot flames into the air. The energy made my belly warm. The energy made me want to attack Sex Hippie. I told him so; in not so many words. I also told him that we should walk back to the car, seeing as how I was thinking naughty thoughts, and I had yet to decide if or what I was going to do about them.

He asked what thoughts I was having. I said I wasn't going to tell. He asked why; I said, "Because then YOU will want to fuck me, too." He laughed. . . I shook inside. I wanted him to fucking tear my clothes off and pull me down onto the beach, onto his cock, into his breath.

Instead, we kept walking, and started talking, hypothetically, about what I might have been thinking, what he might have been thinking, and what we should do about it. After circling each other for a while, he stated: "I wouldn't stop you." I said, "But would you like it?"

We got into the car, smoking our cigarettes, going through round-a-bouts. Energy sparking. My pussy grew wet within my pants. I could smell my sex smell.

When we got closer to home, I said that we could wait until his next day off. Then he said, "It's not even 11pm yet." I said, "Where do you want to go?"

We went to the park; it was closed. We drove up to a bench under a large tree, overlooking the city. It was dark, dark. We grasped at each other. He pushed my shirt up over my breasts. He nuzzled them, nibbled them, caressed them. I reached into his pants, and put my hand around his cock. I massaged it, taking my time. I reached down and cupped his balls in my palm. He grimaced. He pushed me onto my back, on the bench, and yanked my pants off. He put his face into my pussy, groaning.

He got up, stripped down to his boxers, and thrust his cock into my wet pussy. We rocked together. We rocked. He kept telling me I had such a tight, little pussy. I was so hot. He called me baby. He wanted me to come. I came for him. Then I pulled him onto the ground, and got on top of him, and rocked again. We rocked. Then I got down and put his cock in my mouth, licking his balls; cupping his balls and sucking his cock. He said I was going to make him come.

I got back on top of him and made him come.

The day after, he came over to hang out with Boyfriend, and brought some Corona. I got drunk, had more herbal remedy. We exchanged lines that only we would understand, or catch. We flirted with our words, unequivically. They went into the other room to play music. I lay on the carpet and listened to Portishead, loudly, with the bass rumbling the floor.

Sex Hippie came into the room, and asked what I was doing, as I was laying, in my rope, have-exposed on the ground. He came over and touched my back. I arched my back, and he ran his fingers down my spine. He put his arm across my chest, from behind. I arched my back again and ran my fingers through his spiky hair. He nibbled my neck. I moaned softly. He reached into my robe, and rubbed my pussy with two fingers, softly.

He thought Boyfriend had stopped playing. He jumped up. He began playing again. I was sprawled on the ground, my robe open. He spread my legs, and licked my pussy. He put a couple fingers inside. I moaned and lay back, open. He said: "You're so hot." I said: "You make me so hot."

He kept saying, "I gotta go." "I should go." He would get up and then get back down. The last time he got back down, he gripped me with one arm, almost lifting me off the ground, and gently clutched my hair in his hand, and pulled my head back, kissing my neck, telling me how hot I was.

Eventually, I go back to the bedroom where they're playing. I lay in the bed, drunk. I tell them they don't need to stop playing. They eventually go back into the other room. I masturbate, touching myself. I masturbate again. Sex Hippie leaves, after mentioning, while Boyfriend is outside, that we could hook up during his lunch hour, tomorrow.

Fucking hot. Fucking hot.