Catfish Green continues

48 new messages. Like does this guy not really care I know he's not Tom Green? Blatantly told him, I've spoken to him, his manager, and brother. He asked if it was a video call? Like at this point it would matter??? Dude you tried to sell me a fucking briefcase??? 48... really???

And you miss me? I would too. I'm awesome... (said in a confident way, no arrogance) my brain hurts from this shit. My heart already feels retarded. Fucking Retarded. This isn't like an oops you got me once and you're going to do it again?? I got a immovable object as a heart now. As there was a reason to try in my life again really anyways??

I spoke with Benga today... I sent him my blog post after I wrote it. When I checked my blocked messages today, there were a bunch from him yesterday. Wishing me a happy belated birthday, and all the wells in the world. But making sure I knew he wasn't attempting to pull any heart strings, and he still thinks he's right. And I very much had all the ability in me to give him what he wanted.

I love that. Things my soul will forever keep. I'm sorry it's still your fault. It's your fault I played with your heart. It's your fault I fooled around with you and turned around and would try to be with someone else. And he was right. It is. Just as much as the fake Tom Green is stalking me. I bought the shit they were selling. I wanted to be loved. I always have my whole life. So I take ownership in all of it. It was all me. And while I'm sure it's a fucking invonvience to the real Tom Green,  whom at this point I feel sorry for as well, this shit eats my soul alive.

All I have his my name. I've blocked him... doesn't give up. At least I'm not engaged enough in it to humor conversation. I emailed The real ones manager today so I can get the contact info to whoever they talked to... case number? Actual person??

I got nothing. Which seems really fucking weird actually. I'm at the point I'm going to call the fucking FBI myself. Like I get it, I don't have to look at blocked messages, and I could forever go without answers,  but if they didn't report this shit after I spent my life forwarding a thousand messages, I don't think that's ok. I think it's as suspect as the fake Tom.

I feel like I'm in a bad episode of the twighlight zone. I just got off work, I'm sitting at a packed bar in the corner alone with my headphones on.

I feel like the last 6 months of my life has shaped this person and everyday I feel like I have less and less and less of a heart to give. To have for myself. I'm exhausted from being nice. Clearly I'm fucked up I recited the actuality of love possibilities to my date over the dinner table...who says some grim ass shit like that? To a seemingly decent guy? This fucked up girl right here.

I'd  like to think wearing the headphones at the bar screams please don't talk to me. Or at least I hope they do.

I do not want to be hit on. Yes I know I own tits. Yes I'm aware of their size.  I feel sorry for any dude who tries from any point on. I'm dead inside. This love shit is cemented inside me. Although more than anything the sex addict in me wants to go full rampage till I'm numb. I hated that person, I personally blame her for this person now. I know I'm a good human, but I'm also very aware that in the depths of addiction I was not. I don't know how many men I've made cry. And yet I'm always at this fucking fork in the road asking me which way I want to turn. As if I could walk for even a moment without having to decide.

As The Weekend would say.. I'm so used to being used.

Benga will never understand he was equally as toxic. Dude will continue to harass me.

I was raised by fucking wolves. Wolves I tell you. Never right. I learned every hardcore lesson my own. Survival. And the moment I opened myself up, it's always a heart hostage situation.

Shit even when I finally text Benga back today and explained I did always see him, and maybe I didn't know how to love him the way he needed...

It was don't text me sad shit when I'm drunk I'm going to cry. First of all.. I ain't next to you I don't know what you're doing with your life. It's been two months. Maybe you should get a new fucking hobby? I thought by now you would be enjoying daytime sex with your new girlfriend? And even funnier he's got a lot to say...

I just said I'm sorry and take care....

This shit ain't working anymore. None of it. It's crazy as fuck. I live a careful and quiet life. I keep to my damn self. I'm kind to people, help strangers. The extent of me going out is this, hiding at the bar down the road alone. Unapproachable.
Leave me the fuck alone.. everyone...

I get Benga, we were both done with the bullshit. And I made damn sure he would stay the fuck away for good, so he wouldnt ever look back with regrets. Dueces. I love him but I'm good on all that drama. No one and I mean no one has pissed me off the way he has in years. I don't like the person he brings out in me.

But ol stalker boy... gtfoh. Why? You have nothing to gain. Zero. I have not shit for you. You had real. You had opportunities. You had chances, ample ones to tell me the truth and the only thing this muther fucker did was lock solid my feelings. I have no reason to believe or trust anyone I don't know, and I doubt the people I do know. I learned along time ago, people are mostly about themselves and that's it. Not me. And I can clearly be me without any of that nonsense.

Like fuck me. Why the hell do I bother? Why did I try this long? So I can wake up and pop some antidepressants? Fuck no.

I just wish the world would leave me alone. Clearly I'm not Interested.