Fuck you.

Maybe I just gave up.  maybe my whole life doesn't hurt as much as i think it does.  I'm just a fucking child.  A baby that couldn't handle her own weaknesses.  popping pills and taking the easy way out.  Why didn't anyone ever teach me that failing was okay?  That practice is fun?  that laughing and trying again is possible. 
Why didn't anyone tell me they would love me anyway?  They say they did, but I don't remember.

Stop your incessant whining.

Your  huffing and puffing and bad-mouthing others flaws is just all that self-anger leaking out squeaking its balloon-sized lips making that horrendous noise that people cringe when they hear.  screech.

You are living with two strangers.  He seems to know you sometimes.  but i don't think he likes you.  i think hes lonely and afraid of being alone.  of dying alone.  I need another bottle of wine.

"this is awkward," he texts me. What we thought was a dance performance is actually a 7 year-old dance party with parents.  His son has anxiety problems too.  they are both so afraid.  they love eachother, but they are so afraid.  "He doesn't want to dance; he says he is no good."  Well, don't lie to him and tell him he's good.  tell him its okay not to be good.  tell him you would still love him if he couldn't get the high score on Mario World or memorize a thick stack of Spanish flashcards or rattle off 101 reptile facts.  Tell him you would still love him if he couldn't ride a bike or blow the biggest gum bubble or didn't have a row of perfectly straight white teeth.   Tell him you can't dance.  Show him you can't dance. Show him its a good time, anyway. 

then cut a fucking rug.