devil's advocate

story. of. my. life.
2014-11-07 00:00:00 (UTC)

The Story of What the Hell Happened to Danielle in 2014

You think you know someone after ten years of friendship. After five years of best friendship. After dating, getting engaged, etc. Then everything falls apart. Their secrets and lies come crashing through, and there's nothing worse than being a good girlfriend and following the rules and having a bad boyfriend who doesn't. I've been a bad girlfriend before, everyone. And I'm sure the worst boyfriends would agree, even though wouldn't be able to accurately defend their opinion if I were present to present the fasts. The point is, I've done some horrible, inexcusable, scum-bag things to boys before. And I'm not proud of that, I really am not. But the fact that I'm not like that anymore, I'm being good and doing what I'm supposed to should be enough to pay for whomever I'm with to treat me the same way.
Ryan Matthew Fowler is the only man I ever agreed to marry. I haven't spoken to him since mid March, when I got an order of protection against him. Before then, the last time we spoke was in December, the day that I filed charges against him for legally kidnapping me, threatening my life with a boxcutter, and domestic abuse. When I pressed charges, I got a temporary one-way restraining order against him, and I immediately went back to an old boyfriend who I thought was the worst type of person. I told the old boyfriend that I was sorry for treating him like he was a demon, because I'd met a real one now and I was wrong. Here it is, almost a year later, and I wish I could go back to Ryan and tell him that even though he was a demon, I had met the damn devil.
By my side in court was my then-boyfriend Christian Mark Devine. The relationship, at that point, had already taken major hits. Christian had let another girl into his apartment and kissed her, contacted a few exes of his, talking poorly about me behind my back, earned a reputation of a pompous asshole with several of my friends, and I had already tried to break up with him several times at this point. Each time, he would cry and say he was sorry, that he wasn't trying to be mean or rude, that he really liked me and that he didn't want me to leave. Back then, I knew it wouldn't work between us because of his love for the party scene and my love of being my boyfriend's center of attention, but I agreed to stay because he was cute and at that point, was giving me pretty much anything I wanted.
Around the time of court, there was an incident when Christian playfully tugged on my hair. Unfortunately, it was in the exact same spot that Ryan had pulled out two fistfulls of my hair just months before, and it sent me into a mental state of shock. I went from giggling and jumping around to crying off pounds of gel liner in the floor, begging and pleading for Alex Thornton and Micah Pullum. I collected my things, told Christian I would call him, and ran out the door, driving towards my mother's and Alex's homes. I was diagnosed with PTSD the next week. I shared this news with Christian, who was trying desperately to make up for his mistakes and get closer to me. He began asking me to tell him about the details of some of my physical altercations with Ryan, and I did. I felt like telling someone how the flashbacks looked really helped relieve the burden that I had been holding in to deal with on my own. I noticed, rather quickly, that some of the things Ryan had done to me, were being manifested in my relationship with Christian. Anything I told Christian that Ryan had done that severely impacted me, Christian would begin to do. He would discourage me from doing my hair/makeup and dressing up because other men would look at me and it would make him jealous and me look slutty. He would brag about his exes, tell me about how much he missed them, tell me about past sexual experiences with other people in detail, compare me to other women while we were out together. That's how it started. Small things, to slowly deteriorate my confidence.
Now, Christian has two girlies from his past that are both total knockouts. One is a legitimate model, and probably the coolest woman I have ever met. She's also the #1 reason I am alive right now because she is the one who convinced me to tell anyone about the whole bottle of pills I took in my suicide attempt back in October. The other woman is a bright, beautiful, hardworking student who NEVER should have gotten tangled up in Christian's cheating, lying, and drug abusing. He took her to Phi Detla Theta fraternity parties, bullied her into doing several things she didn't want to do, and would disappear with condoms for hours at a time while his brothers kept her company and dropped small hints that he was being unfaithful to her. These girls are WOMEN. They are badasses. They are beautiful, and if being an ex of Christian Devine's means nothing else, it means that I am among the ranks of them, and I'm completely fine with that. These are women to be jealous of. His other ex, not so much. Miss Kelsey Tucker had a three-year relationship with Christian where they both cheated on each other, and they both fed off of the drama and turbulence that they created for each other. They will both tell you that. The only time they bonded was when they were out doing drugs or drinking together, and they will both tell you that also. That's not news. But why was I supposed to live in the footsteps of these other girls? I'm not them. I'm nothing like them. I can never be them, even if I were to try. I am myself. I like who I am. I've spent years being stubborn and steadfast in my ways, and there has really never been anyone to like all of me. I used to pride myself on being immovable in my relationships. I never budged. If the other person didn't compromise, we broke up, because I never let myself be compromised (sometimes a good, sometimes a bad thing). I had no idea until this past week, exactly how far into my brain Christian had seeped. I had no clue just how manipulated I had been until I had been abandoned.
That's just the beginning of the emotional abuse.
Obviously, I told Christian a good portion of all of the physical abuse I suffered at the hands of Ryan. And like clockwork, three or four days later, in our next fight, there would be nearly identical methods of hurting me physically. I have never admitted this to more than three people before, so this is going to be a big deal for me to come clean about, but. The final straw for Ryan was after the kidnapping/boxcutter/tying me up/beating me up, I left and he began threatening to kill himself. So I went to talk him out of it, and he raped me. As I have explained to you already, Christian mimicked Ryan. That should be sufficient information for you to know where this is going.
The emotional abuse was happening as early as the first week of our relationship. So was the unfaithfulness (to my knowledge, the unfaithfulness only stopped when Christian and I broke up after I was released from Ten Broeck). We got together in February. The physical abuse, which I take responsibility for starting, was happening in March. The sexual abuse began in May. We officially broke up Sunday, November 2nd.
One weekend in April, Christian's two roommates both went home to visit their families. They left on Friday. They returned on Tuesday. There was some fighting Friday night. I don't remember what the fight was over, so I can't tell you who started it or who could have finished it. But I can tell you the physical violence began with him punching a hole in the wall one inch from my face. He missed. It was in his bedroom, right next to his closet. I collapsed to the ground, crying, saying I was sorry. He walked out of the room, and I cried for ten minutes. When I began to stop, the yelling got worse. He told me to get out of his apartment. I collected my things, and had moved part of them out of his room into the hall space. He threw my makeup/hair bag down the stairs, upside down and all of my stuff spilled out down the stairs to the door. I yelled some obscenities, I don't remember what they were. He began to run up the stairs. I ran into his room and held the door closed, and he punched through it, cutting his hand. I stepped back, and when he got into the room, I scratched his face. You all will remember some pictures that are still posted on my facebook account where he has a scratch. That was me. At that point, it was a brawl. Punches, hair pulling, hitting, scratching, kicking. Eventually, the battle ended, and we went to sleep in the same bed, cuddling. The next day, I went to work. I think he went with me, I don't remember. That night was even worse. We were arguing, but getting into the shower when he punched a hole in that wall, again, right next to my face. I fell to the ground, crying. He drug me out of the bathroom into the bedroom. He pulled me up by my hair (obviously a well-known trigger by now), and I swung at him. It was a brawl... I lost. I had clearly lost, but the fighting didn't stop. It was three hours into the fight, and I had been continuously crying. Everything hurt. It hurt to move. I was crawling on the floor of the hall. My bangs were matting to my face where the tears and some blood from my mouth/lip was. He was sitting in a chair with his legs half-crossed, looking down at me. He had cried, I presume at the shock of what had been done. I took this as him being sorry. He wasn't. I crawled to his feet and pulled myself up by his legs. I crawled into his lap and hugged his neck and cried on him. "Please stop. PLEASE. Please stop." He wrapped his arms around me and petted my hair. "I love you." "I love you, too." I think I fell asleep there for about an hour before he moved me to the bed and we went to sleep. The next night was worse. It was back to the point where I was on the floor, but I was more hysterical, and he was angrier this time. I crawled to his feet, "PLEASE STOP." He kicked me off of him, and kicked me again. He got on top of me, held my arms down, and slammed me into the floor, yelling at me. I began screaming. I didn't know what else to do. There was nothing to argue about. All of our relationship problems were his fault. Either by something he did, or by the way he WANTED to make me feel (scared, insecure, jealous, etc.). He got off of me and sat back down in the chair, looking down at me again. He spit on me, talked some more shit. "PLEASE STOP, PLEASE CHRISTIAN, PLEASE, I'LL BE GOOD, PLEASE DON'T HIT ME ANYMORE." There was a LOUD knock on the door. It was his neighbor. He had heard everything. He knocked again. We were both terrified. We put on our shoes, watched the neighbor call 911 as he walked back into his apartment, and we got in my car and left. I didn't want anyone to go to jail. This was a relationship problem. This was normal. When Christian's roommates got back, the neighbor told them what he heard. His roommates saw the holes. They kicked him out. He moved in with my sister. Less than a week in, there was a physical fight. I told him if it happened again, he had to leave. I had two small nieces and my sister was not having any of that shit. Another fight happened. I took him in my car to Cookeville. "Call your mom." Biggest. Mistake. Ever. "Call your mom, tell her the truth about everything. Tell her you need help with your anger. If you tell her you need help, I will stay with you. But you cannot live here anymore." His mom hated me from that point on for telling her that her son needed help. HE FUCKING DID, YOU STUPID FUCK. We had a disastrous dinner with his parents that weekend where they yelled at me in public, degraded me, put me down, etc. We ended up breaking up shortly thereafter. He brings his dad's truck to Sparta to get his stuff. Mom has a doctor's appointment and doesn't want us alone in the house because of the violence. We decide to go eat to pass the time. I drive. He cusses at me, yells at me, threatens me, I start to drive back. I pull over at Dollar General. "If you don't apologize and be nice to me, you will walk up the mountain to your truck. I don't owe you anything, and I'm not going to tolerate you treating me this way anymore." He tries to take my keys, hitting my face in the process. Gets them, hits the lock button on my doors before I notice, throws my keys on the roof. I'm locked out of my car with no wallet or phone or shoes. The pavement was so hot, guys. "I'm calling a cab, have a nice life, bitch." He refused to help me. He was walking away. I walked up after him. Tried swatting his phone out of his hand with my right paw, punched him straight in the nose with my left. No blood this time. He threw me over/into a shopping cart. Everyone saw him throw me, no one saw me punch him. Police arrive. I told the truth. We both get arrested (but they did let me get my keys down before they took me to jail) for 12 hours, which is standard for domestic assault. I would know. I pressed these charges on Ryan. In jail, we were not allowed to talk. We figured it out anyway. He asked me to come get him from his home after we get out, and we were going to run away. District attorney is so sweet. "The affidavit, your honor, says that Zayas was struck before exiting the vehicle. It also says Zayas strikes first when out of the vehicle. Due to the testimony, the state is unsure of which individual was intentionally aggressive first, and the state is unable to pursue the charges in this case. We request that both Zayas and Devine pay court costs in order to have charges dismissed."
I get almost to Christian's house, an address he provided, a house I had never been to before. He calls from his dad's phone. He's almost packed, he just has to sneak out. Tre Ward is here for moral support, also because I didn't want to make this drive alone. I park in a cul-de-sac that I thought was a block away from his house. Wrong. It was right in front of his fucking house. His dad knocks on my window. Oh shit. Won't let me get out of my car. Oh shit. His sister calls. "Danielle, please, I don't want to lose my little brother, you are ripping this family apart, please pull off now." She was crying. I tried to console her, but I had no idea what the hell was going on. The entire family, sans Christian comes pouring out of the house. He comes behind them. This is what it was like for soldiers to meet face to face and shoot each other. "Tre, stay back." So much arguing. So much bitching. Christian's dad tries to fight Tre, tries to fight Christian. his sister tries to hit me. "We have no idea where he is getting the violent streak from, it has to be Danielle." Fuck you guys, you're a family of unstable, power-hungry addicts.
He ends up leaving with me for a night. Takes advantage of me, but stops when I start crying. Goes home immediately. Smokes pot. I break up with him. Few days later, I go to another guy's house to talk and have a drink. He's texting, messaging, Skyping constantly. "Please come back." He comes over the next day to talk to me. "I want to be with you, but not if it means I can't do drugs." Boy, bye. Go to a party with that other guy. Christian knows me too well. Next week, I finally admit to everything. He shows up to fight the other guy. What even.
FAST FORWARD. July. Sunday night after work. The skating rink parking lot is empty, save mine and Christian's car. He's in my car. We're talking. He throws a huge temper tantrum in my passenger seat. Seriously, you guys. A temper tantrum. I mean it. He screams. Just a scream, no words. Just screams. Kicks my windshield with both feet from the inside. It cracks. "WHAT THE FUCK, ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW!?" "I SMOKED POT THREE TIMES, I CHEATED ON YOU WITH (name)!!!!!!!!!! FUCK YOU, YOU STUPID FUCKING C---" He opens the door. I tackled him to the ground from my seated position. I just punched repeatedly. Over and over. I couldn't stop. I couldn't breathe. I kept punching. Hard. He couldn't stop me, I was on his arms, close to his face. I grabbed him by the hair with both hands to slam his head into the concrete, and looked at him. I let go. I stopped. I went to move off of him and I said sorry. He used his legs to slam my head into the concrete instead. He picked me up and threw me against my car. His turn. He stopped to walk away. I got in my car to leave. "Are you going to hit me!?" "What? No??" Runs and jumps on my car, STOMPS MY WINDSHIELD IN. His foot actually hit my forehead through the glass. Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me. I called some friends.
NEXT WEEK. IHop waiter was trying to get me a job (also obviously flirting with me). He texted me. Christian went to punch me. He missed. Broke his hand. Lost his job. Hadn't saved any money. That's the story of how Christian ended up owing me over $1000 that I will never see, says him and his mother (I paid for his food, his rent, his toilet paper, his gas, EVERYTHING). He did, however, replace my windshield. Which, he knew I would have sued if he didn't. I move into an apartment with him. The worst fight is coming. Starts over ISIS. "I know President Obama can't really do much, but for him to be so blatantly careless on the issue is really detrimental and disrespectful to the Office." Christian disagreed. Shoving match. "I'm leaving for the night, I don't want to be around you." I go into my walk-in closet to pack my overnight bag (school tomorrow). He comes in there, pushes me, I fight back, it's a fight. I lose. Shoves me repeatedly into wooden bars in the middle of my closet. knees my thigh and stomach, throws me down. Goes into the bedroom and locks it. I'm crying. He doesn't have gas money to go anywhere. After a few minutes of crying, I get up and continue to pack. I grab my keys. He hears them. He comes out of the bedroom. Argues. "Whatever, I'm leaving." Tries to push me down the stairs. I throw my bags down and go after him. I grab him, he whips me into the wall. I grab his arms, sink my nails in. He grabs my hair, I'm still crying, "Why do you pull my hair, Christian? You always pull my hair. Maybe that's not the right thing, maybe if you hit me, I'll love you again." He hit me. Hard. Behind my ear. I fell down. I couldn't see. It was loud. I screamed and bawled. It was swollen bigger than my fist in seconds. I was nauseated. "Christian, I'm dying, I think I'm dying, call 911!!!" "No." Grabs his keys, gets in his car, leaves. I didn't stop crying from that point until after I left the ER (that I drove myself to) six hours later. It. Hurt. My skull was cracked. I couldn't lay on it. It hurt too bad. I couldn't wash that part of my hair. I couldn't do my hair. "You deserved it for not walking away from the fight when I pushed you."
Mom starts to get sicker, so I don't tell anyone anything. I keep it all inside, I don't tell anyone. I don't need the attention, this is mom's time. I remember thinking to myself every day, "I want to die. I'm going to kill myself, that's what I want to do. But I can't do that to mom. She would just be worse off. She needs the peace to know I'll be okay. I won't do it yet. I'll wait until she goes." Mom dies. Christian smelled my emotional vulnerability. He got worse. Arguments over nothing. Arguments while I was getting myself ready for the viewing and the funeral. One week after mom passes away, I go to Alf's (mom's not-boyfriend's house). I told him about my skull. We made plans to move me out of the apartment while Christian was in class on Tuesdays from 6-9pm. I go home. Had to move out that night. He was going to hit me again, and I knew if Alf found out about it, Christian would end up in the hospital. "Who was that that you called to come get you? I'm not okay with him being here, and this is my apartment." "Then I'll call the police, and you can explain to them why I'm moving out." "You hit me back. If you press charges, so will I, and we will both go to jail. You're not going to get away with anything either." I just started bagging up my things. Christian had bought a blanket for me and it was in my car. He wanted it back. "Okay, I'll get it in a minute." He went looking for my keys and couldn't find them. I got them, he tried to forcibly take them. He was about to hit me. "Christian, get away from me or I'm calling the police." "CALL THEM!" I called them. He vanished. I packed and moved out.
WEEK LATER, same scenario where Christian is in my car verbally abusing me. I tell him to get out. Walk home. He throws hot taco bell on my bare skin, throws entire cup of large baja blast on my deceased mother's belongings. He gets out in traffic. Loses his phone in the process. Long story short, it fell out of his lap when he got out of the car, ended up getting run over. I found it and accidentally kicked it into a drainage pipe on The corner of Jefferson and Interstate Drive. Oops.
LATER, No phone. No money. No computer. Uses mine to talk to other girls, cheat on me. I'm an idiot. I keep buying his food. I have to pay for half of the apartment even though I cannot safely live there. I'm behind in school. My mom died. Christian leaves the apartment to go smoke pot and hang out with other girls. I'm sick of living this way. There's a full bottle of pills I just got filled on my front seat. I go into the apartment and flush all of his medication so he can't copy me. Live with what you have done to me. I get in my car. Take 10. Take 10 more. Swallow the rest of the entire bottle. I called one of Christian's exes. She convinced me to stop what I was trying to do and to call my friends who were nearby. I did. Christian shows up, treats me like shit. He has no idea I took them all. My friends don't believe I took them all. I did. I could feel something wrong. I could tell my body was not okay. I felt like i was dying. I felt it. And I looked at Christian in the eyes and I meant it, "Christian, I made a mistake. I don't want to die." The police knock on the door. The ambulance is right behind them. Hypokalemia, metabolic acidosis, seizure, respiratory failure. I woke up in the ICU. He dumped me and left. "I'm getting an order of protection."
Ten Broeck Tennessee is THE BEST EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFE. Even though I was there against my will. Donate. They're amazing. #TeamFran. I get out of Ten Broeck.After I left Ten Broeck, I felt like I needed to write a bunch of wrongs because the fear and pain had shrouded me in wrath, and I will admit to all of you that some of the things that I did to others during this time were absolutely horrible. I went to talk to Christian's mother, Karen Womack Devine. Upon arrival, I was told about how badly Christian didn't want to be around me (which is funny, because it was less than 48 hours later that he contacted me to meet up with him after his parents had gone to sleep for the night). She used everything she could to hurt me. She compared me to Christian's drug-addicted and cheating ex, she told me how big of a disgrace I would be to my mother is she were still here, and so much more, but I kept calm and tried my best not to lose track of why I was there--- to turn my life around. Of course, they wanted no part of me, which to a certain degree was understandable. But after his sister, Alissa Kinsley Shaia, had to be physically restrained by four individuals to be kept from physically assaulting me (Karen had told me I should break up with her son and go home because my mom, "the bitch [was] dying," and I responded, "Yeah, and it's a shame that someone like her has to die and sons of bitches like you get to live." Not my best moment, don't care. Do NOT talk about my mother.) and after the numberous times that Christian's father David Devine got in my face, backing me against my car, yelling at me, screaming at me, calling me every name in the book, shaking and pointing a screwdriver in my face, beating on my car and my car windows; you would THINK, that they would be able to see that me trying to forgive them as nothing more than fellow humans was not an easy task. You would think that at this point, after all of it, we could all say, "We messed up, no one is perfect, no ill wishes, shalom, goodbye." But of course not. She had to tell me that her father is a millionaire, and that he had already been pulling strings and talking to his "buddies" about pressing charges against me, for what, I do not know. I can only speculate that it would be either the time that I broke up with Christian because his mother Karen told him I was just a stupid piece of ass that was not worth ruining his life over while I was right there watching and listening to her on Skype, and he asked what he could do to make me stay and I said, "Literally kill your mother." Not my best moment, but ladies and gentlemen, of course I never meant that seriously. It could also be for any of the times I ever hit Christian which were almost unanimously in self defense, save the time when he cracked my windshield and the very first time there was every any violence, when I slapped him in the face for kissing another girl while we were together. I did that. I slapped him in the face, unprovoked. I can admit that. And I am sorry. Mostly, though, I am sorry because I realize that I opened up the platform for a violent relationship. Because of that one slap to the face, Christian and I both suffered scratches, scars, bruises, broken bones, black eyes, and bloody noses. I feel entirely responsible for the physical violence that plagued our relationship.
So, he cried and begs for me to come back, help him get to a better place. I am an idiot. I went back. He used me for sex. He took money from me. Over $100. Convinced me that we would be together if I went to Virginia. As soon as he knew I was here, he abused my heart some more, and then aid goodbye and ignored me. And is still ignoring me. Haha. So the other good girlie? We talked. And guess what I found out! The times where he was beating me with his hands and with foreign objects, when he was abusing me in every way he could??? He was texting her! Tell her she was perfect! She's one in a billion! She's "one in a billion"? She's "perfect"? Right, right, that's why when she was yours, you drugged her, all but forced her to drink at your frat parties while you ran off and did acid and shrooms and cheated on her, right? But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe time away from her, time with me, showed you just how much you really loved her, just how much she meant to you. And that's okay. You can't help how you feel, can you? But WHY do you care so much about HER, when I'm the one sitting here taking your abuse?? What will make me enough for you, if not taking your belt, your fists, your anger??

And so here I have been for months, even when our relationship was "stable," worrying about what his family and friends thought of me. Worrying about when he was going to cheat on me or lie to me again. HE NEVER STOPPED. EVER. He lied to me about pretty much everything he could. And it hurts. It hurts, guys. I'm not going to lie. But him ignoring me and financially stranding me in another state, 12 hours away is the best thing he ever did for me. I can breathe. No more bruises, no more blood. No more anxiety.

Let me tell you something, you skeletal, demonic excuse for a human being: you may have gotten the best of me for a few months. You may have turned me into a horrible girlfriend. You may have beaten me, stolen my tears, broken my heart, gotten a few over on me. You can make fun of me. You can show people those pictures, you can tell them all I'm crazy. You can have an ego boost that someone loved you enough to kill herself when you didn't love her back. You can be proud of yourself. You can have the victories in the fights. You can keep smoking pot, drinking, doing party drugs. You can still be a porn addict. You can still be a sex addict. You can talk to other women. You can have your family who talked so poorly about me, who loved when they hurt and excluded me. You can love all the things that I hated about you and your interests. Guess what? IT DOESN'T MATTER.
I am Danielle Motherfucking Zayas. I like me, and other people like me. Even those who know the bad parts. People like how I don't take their shit. People like that I don't lay down and get stepped on. People think I am attractive. People think I'm funny. They think I'm charming, intelligent, graceful, full of life. They think I'm worth it. I AM IMPORTANT TO OTHER PEOPLE. I think I'm pretty. I think I'm smart. I think I'm going to be successful. I LOVE MYSELF AGAIN. EVEN THOUGH YOU NEVER COULD LOVE ME AS I WAS, CHRISTIAN DEVINE, I FUCKING LOVE MYSELF. Your family may be your family, BUT THEY ARE ALL BULLIES. Your friends may be your friends, and they may not want anything bad to happen to you, but they don't care enough about you to know who you really are on the inside the way I tried to. And there will be more girls, honey, and they will fall for you. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? THEY WON'T LOVE YOU. THEY WILL NEVER LOVE YOU. They will love who you act like you are; they will love the idea of you. But once you show them, sweetheart, who you REALLY ARE? They're going to be FUCKING REPULSED. NO ONE COULD EVER LOVE YOU FOR WHO YOU ARE, YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT. YOU DESTROY EVERYTHING YOU GET AHOLD OF. YOUR GRADES, YOUR JOB, YOUR RELATIONSHIPS, YOUR FAMILY. AND AS IF YOUR LIFE ISN'T 90% OF THE WAY THERE? THE OTHER 10% IS GOING TO FOLLOW SUIT SOON. KEEP ON WITH YOUR PARTYING, CHRISTIAN MARK. KEEP ON WITH YOUR DRUGS. KEEP ON USING AND ABUSING YOUR WOMEN.
I wish, so badly, honeybunch, that I could have been the one to tear your life apart, to rip apart your soul limb from limb. But I can't. I accept that. I'm too weak physically and emotionally. BUT SOMEONE ELSE WILL. ONE DAY, you're going to get EXACTLY who you deserve. ONE DAY, you're going to go too fucking far, Christian. But until then? You can keep telling everyone you dumped this crazy bitch, and when your relationships keep looking like this, like they always have, everyone is going to slowly realize that YOU'RE THE FUCKING PROBLEM. FUCK YOU, YOU STUPID FUCKING C---. <3

Thanks to everyone who actually read this. I've been needing to get this out for quite some time now.