It’s a constant struggle of fighting my feelings of euphoria or emptiness—two different sides constantly fighting for me. It takes a toll on me mentally, but also physically as well. I get so exhausted, as if I ran a marathon or escaped a serial killer. Despite me saying that, I’m feeling quite balanced today. It’s the start of summer. It’s almost the anniversary of when I met Evan. I wonder if he will try to contact me on that day. Evan is a very frustrating person to deal with. I’m even more frustrated with myself for wanting to put up with it again. I miss the friendship we had. I’ve come to learn that it was all fake and that he had an ultimate goal the entire time, but I wish I could live in that ignorant bliss again—where all I knew was that I was hanging out with my friend and having the most wonderful time. I had some sort of Stockholm syndrome when I was with him. He was all I had. That was my entire world; I didn’t know anything outside of it. I was scared of being alone. I was scared of the uncertainty that came with not having him in my life anymore, so I would close my eyes and heart, and continue to live in that painful comfort. Rest assured, I’m not talking to him at all.
The last time I had contact with him was in March, I think? He was online on League the same time as me, and I wanted to instigate horribly. I truly think that I am a good person at my core, so the only actually bad thing about me is that I love instigating. It’s not like I do it to random people—only those I know, and only if the time is right for it. I’m unfortunately quite a prideful person. Seeing Evan sitting online and knowing that I could confront him, knowing that I’m in the right, was like a mosquito bite dying to be scratched. Of course, only scratching the bite will make it worse. So, I messaged Evan. And of course, it led to an argument where I was like, “Wanna hear good news? I’m chill with Wolf again. Good news for me, but bad news for you.” And he’s like, “Enjoy the MEAT FEST bro.” And I’m like, “Your fall-off needs to be studied.” Yeah. I’m sure you’re reading this thinking, “Man, how annoying is she? She sounds absolutely insufferable. Glad I don’t know her!” But this is Evan we’re talking about. With the things he put me through, me being a little mean was rightfully deserved—and it felt amazing to finally just stop caring and instigate for the pure love of the game. I hope you can understand.
In other news, Enhypen released an album, and I’ve been listening to “Outside” on repeat. I love the synth in it. It’s synth, right? During the chorus?
It’s so strange to try and explain the way I feel. I’m not one to talk about feelings and what I’m truly thinking, because I fear how weak it makes me look. I don’t want people using my true feelings against me. It’s easier to put up a wall and use a specific persona when talking to different people. It’s not that it isn’t genuine, but it’s a way to protect myself. When people are saying mean things about me or are mad at me, it’s not the true me at my core—just the “me” I’m projecting to the front. I made the mistake of being genuine with people such as Evan and Max in the past, and they used it against me. The reason I’m not more mad at Max is because I almost always had my wall up. Meanwhile, Evan took full advantage of my broken mental state. I didn’t have any wall to hide behind because of the pure shock and despair of everything. It makes me sick to think about.
How are people able to hurt those they care about—especially in the way Evan did? I know I talk about him a lot. I’m sorry about that. It’s hard to get over everything. I mean, I’m completely over him, and I’ve come to accept everything, but the memories always replay in my head no matter what I do. There were so many times where I was on the verge of suicide because I wanted to stop thinking about it. I would do everything I could to distract myself, but things would replay in my mind against my will. Grief and trauma sure are weird things. I wonder how life feels for those who aren’t weighed down by them. It’s as if I view my life from a third-person point of view—like I’m a spectator in my own life, and there’s a row of different versions of “me” who randomly step forward to take control, then just as suddenly step back.
What a strange world. Please wish me luck.