I'm such a fucking mess right now. Such a mess that I've goot gooseflesh and my skin is on fire.

I just had world war three with an ex of mine. Funny how I never referred to her as "the ex" or "an ex," but I have this funny feeling she wouldn't want her name to be revealed. But this is my fucking journal, I get to vent.

Background on this story: We dated, twice to be exact. I broke up with her twice. The first time because I had absolutely no clue how to deal with the relationship. I was in high school, I was immature, I wasn't concrete on my sexuality, and quite frankly, I wasn't terribly patient. I tried to give it a second 'go-round when I thought I had things sorted out. And it was better, it really was. But then she went to college, and we barely saw each other, and it was hard on the both of us. She was experiencing this whole new world, I was busy at home, and the less I saw of her, the more frustrated I became. First, I suggested that we see other people. Then, about three weeks later, it became apparent to me that it just was not going to work.

I had realized that while I loved her, I was not in love with her.

She didn't take it well.

I started dating again, rather quickly. One does such things when their breakup style is "rebound and just don't think about it." Apparently, this was a huge mistake.

I don't think that it is terribly uncommon for exes not to speak very frequently when the breakup is fresh.

It took awhile, but there were civil overtures made. She had a lot to deal with besides me, and I asked her how she felt. It usually resulted in her most recent top ten list of why I suck.

Flash-forward to now. Two weeks ago, we'd had the "water under the bridge talk" where I told her that I was happy that she was happy with Alex, and she said the same for me regarding Mike. I bought her a Christmas gift.

Well tonight, she said she'd reevaluated what she considers to be a friend. My "checking up on her" every now and again "wasn't cutting it." That she was still dealing with the relationship, and she can't get over it, and she thinks the only reason I ever talk to her is to make myself feel better.

Sorry. If I wanted to feel better about myself, I wouldn't endure an endless train of guilt trips everytime we speak. I talk to her because I still love her in spite of myself, even if it's not romantically. After tonight's conversation, I realized that I was pretty much just in love with the person she was.

So. There was World War Three. I lost my temper. And when such things happen, I say very mean things. Although in retrospect, most of the things I said are true.

She berated me for not apologizing about the way I treated her during the breakup, and I told her that I had, only that she'd been too busy wallowing in her pain to notice. That I'd listened to all her insecurities and nightmares because I cared even if she didn't believe me.

In retrospect, maybe I should've just been an utter bitch from day one of the breakup. If she could villainize me more completely, it probably would've helped her move on.

So it basically boiled down that fter these overtures of being finally in friend territory, I'm not good enough to be her friend. Or rather, it's not healthy for us to be friends. I don't get a say in the matter.

So. I told her about herself. I told her about her issues not being my fault. She said she had loved me, and that's why it hurt so much to tell me that. I told her that I love you too, you fucking asshole, but you can't see it because you're too busy feeling your pain to notice that I actually give a damn, even if I don't say so all the time.

I raged, I hurt, I called names. I was furious.

I decided that it'd be better to calm down and write a sane letter instead when I wasn't so pissed off.

She said anything I needed to say should be said then (apparently, she'd decided that this was also the "have a nice life" conversation). I told her it'd be better for me to write it. Give me an address. She didn't think that was a good idea.

So I said fine. Was she afraid that I'd say something that would shatter her idea of me as the evil bitch queen? And I signed off.

Despite all that, the venting, I still give a shit. I care that one of the people that I considered to be a friend has decided that I cause her too much pain by EXISTING to attempt a friendship as well. That I hadn't been putting any effort in, but then again, she hadn't called or written either.

But mostly I'm just sad. Shaken up. And that's the honesty of it, although in some conversation, she'll chalk it up to me trying not to look like the Bad Guy.

Half of me is torn. One half says, "If she wants a bad guy, I'll give her a fucking bad guy." But we don't want Johnny redux, do we? Me as a bad guy is fucking frightening. We're talking Angel/Angelus, here, people.

But the other half wants to try to talk sense into her.

In the end, if she needs to believe in a bad guy, I guess that's what she'll do. If she needs to silence me, fine. But I'll get my word in.

I'm going to bed.