So it's Valentines Day. Well, it's only 1:29 a.m. on Valentines Day, but it's still here. In honor of this day, I need to vent. Vent because I'm 98.356 percent sure I was left for another woman. "Woman" is used loosely here. I had a hunch before there was reason to have a hunch, and now that I have reason, the hunch is even larger.

I can't decide if I want to rip someone's throat out, or laugh. Laugh at her. Or at me, not sure. Me for being so ridiculously stupid as to assume a life could be made with a 23-year-old.

TWENTY-THREE.

There was my first (of many) problems.

Wow, I'm bitter. And angry.

If I could talk to him, which I won't - ever, the word vomit would be vile and full of hatred. I don't respect him right now (clearly), and I tried very hard to, even as he was ripping out my insides with his Internet-researched breakup phrases.

The pain of this breakup was threefold. I was left, abandoned, rejected, for starters. I was not good enough. And I was more than likely left for someone else.

Hi. Just go ahead and stab me a little bit deeper. Yup, and to the left. Right there.

Hopefully when he leaves her, he'll have had enough practice on me that he won't need to research how to do so. And maybe he'll pick a different song, too.

"Hate is a strong word, but I really, really, really don't like you."

How do those lyrics work for you?

krittabug