Sunday, March 27, 2011

Well... this is helpful.

Yay, new blog, millions of people watching and commenting on my deepest inner thoughts and fears... whoo hoo.

I guess I should start out by telling all three of you reading this why I created this blog. It all really started about a week ago, when I got a call from my ex girlfriend Sheila. Keep in mind, dear reader (What the hell? Since when do I use the word dear as an adjective?) that Sheila and I had been broken up since December, and hadn't spoken since late January. Any way, she calls me up out of the blue, to tell me, in no uncertain terms, exactly why it is she had broken up with me. I must have sat there for a good 30 minutes, getting bitched out by the woman I once thought I'd loved, hearing her rant about how I was "insensitive to her needs" and "never able to take things seriously," you, know, standard Raging-Hormone-Bitchfest type aggression, nothing I hadn't heard before. What really freaked me out, though, was the end of our pleasurable little conversation, when, out of nowhere, she shifts gears and begins sobbing, begging me for forgiveness, pleading with me to take her and help her, along with a slew of other assorted hyserical ramblings.

During all of this, I'm sitting in the living room of my apartment staring at the phone, (which I had placed on the coffee table so as to listen to her rant on the glorious speakerphone of my cheap ass Sprint phone) slack jawed. I had no idea how our conversation had come to this bizarre junction, where the girl who had left me less than two months ago, the strongest person I'd ever known, was sobbing like a two year old. Finally, when I thought she had calmed down enough so that I could find out just what had brought on this spurt of lunacy, she said something to me that, even over the crappy ass speaker, sent a shiver down my spine.

"I just... I just wish you had paid more attention Jason... then maybe you could have saved me"

Whilst I was still reeling from that jarring bit of dialouge, Sheila hung up.

Three days later, her roommate calls the phone in my apartment. Sheila was dead. They'd found her lying in her bathtub, wrists slashed.

I honestly don't know what to do anymore. I keep playing that last conversation in my head again and again. I just can't figure it out.... Alex, my roommate and Partner in Idiocy, recommended that I start this blog, to air my feelings and build a network of support. Personally, I think it's a shitty ass idea, but it's honestly the best one I've had offered (and trust me, there were some freaky ideas thrown at me.) So here I am. Hopefully I'll only need to use this for few weeks, and then I can get on with my life. I just need to get over this.

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