I hate being wrong, I hate that I can't open my eyes to see the truth, I hate it that I can't even understand my own thoughts and feelings and that I'm ridiculous, with pretty much everything, I hate that I can't ever seek comfort and when I attempt to I get it all wrong, I go about it the wrong way, I make a mess of things, I ruin things.
Then again, I might not understand myself in the slightest, but I'll never be as bad as a man who can never make up their mind and seem to make it their mission to mess with your head
Even the nicest men mess with your head. Men you consider your best friends, or more. They always manage to get inside your head and have a good rake around until they find that exact spot - that tiny little button that when pushed, will send you over the edge. How are they programmed like that?
How are we programmed to accept that when we know we shouldn't
Why do I even care? *Screams and pulls out hair*