"Fuck her" 2003-02-17 - 12:29 a.m.

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I didn't want to do this

I really wanted to skip the "rant at Stephanie" entry;

but I tried to send her an e-mail, and it wouldn't go through

I don't know wether it's due to an internal error, or if she changed her e-mail so people couldn't get ahold of her

due to her recent conduct with her diary and the almost-blind rage I'm in; I'm going to post the e-mail in it's entirety here:

Stephanie;

I'm sending you this so that I don't just write about you in my diary and hope you'll read it. You have the process of telling me I'm wrong and making me feel like a dick down to an art form. But the fact is: Saturday I had a great time; Erin seemed to enjoy herself, and you seemed to be having fun as well. But if I hadn't called you, would you have called me? No. You wouldn't have. And don't give me shit about "don't tell you what you would have done", you never call me. Except to tell me we can't hang out; but nine times out of ten I don't even get that luxury. You say you want to hang out with me, you say you miss the talks we used to have; but you don't act like it. You never call me, even when you say you will, when I call I either can't get ahold of you or you're busy; and on the few occasions I do get ahold of you and I can come over, you try and tell me that I probably wouldn't want to be over, try and dissuade me. What I want to know is: Why? Why don't you want to hang out with me anymore? And don't give me that: "I'm too busy" crap; you're not too busy for Evan, you're not too busy for Cody, you're not too busy for anyone else but me. Why is that? What did I do? What don't you like about me? I don't even care if changing it wouldn't make you want to hang out with me again; I just want to know what it is. I'm so tired of you telling me you want to hang out with me, and then just blowing me off. And wether you realize it or not, that's what you're doing. Give me a reason. A real one. Even if the consequences of doing so would be drastic; I need to know. And don't tell me I'm just being paranoid. When you can't hang out with me one weekend and I say this, then it's paranoia; when it's been a couple months; something's wrong.

Despite how frustrated I am, I still want to hang out with you. Just drive around or sit around your room; even just talk. And you have no idea the effect your notes have on me. No matter how upset I am, the smallest assurance of yours makes me feel all better. But it's become quite obvious you don't want to hang around with me; and I just want to know why. You're right that I don't know what's going on with your life; and that's because you don't tell me. You just ignore me; and then everyone once in a while you don't look at the Caller ID and just pick up the phone; and "oh fuck," it's me. And after a few hinting-warnings against it; you invite me over anyway just to be polite. And all I want to know is: Why?

Love,

Brett

I'm experiencing a rage the fury of I haven't felt in a long time

I've never yelled at Stephanie in my diary before; except as venting

so Steph, if you want to take offense to this: feel fucking free

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!! WHY IN GOD'S NAME ARE YOU AVOIDING ME??! WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO YOU!!?

AND WHY THE FUCK WON'T YOU EVEN TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IT IS!!??

I really fucking care for you; and all I am to you is a Goddamn annoyance.

I have gone out of my way, to be as nice to you as possible, to never be mad at you, no matter how much you ignore me. No matter how many Goddamn times I open up only to have you turn your back.

But I can't take it any more. I'm tired of being made to feel like a fucking asshole every time I have any objection to you paying no attention to me.

So please, take offence to this.

Get riled.

Get pissed at me.

Maybe then you'll actually pay attention to me.

And don't let the yelling distract you from what I'm trying to say.

Don't let your anger blind you to my point.

I want to know why.

And nothing you could possibly say will matter to me until you tell me that.

I never see you anyway, what difference is it gonna make to me that you're mad at me.

I'm sick to fucking death of typing. I fucking hate talking to people through computer screens.

I wanted to talk to you about this.

But you didn't give me that option.

So I hope you don't mind my putting this out for everyone to read.

And for everyone else:

you have no fucking idea how much it took to push me to this point.

I'm normally a nice guy.

A Plague on Both Your Houses

Bloody-Screaming Nightmares to All

God knows I'm living one