Broken Doll

Once the anger subsides I sink into depression. I’m not really angry at Meg anymore, though for a while I was getting some perverse giggles out of coming up with ways to fuck with her head. Perhaps a demonstration of exactly how much information she leaves on my server logs every time she visits. Or, since she’s dying to know what I think of her and David, posting a bunch of bullshit on how often David and I tryst behind her back. Har.

Instead, I wake up this morning and start to cry. Yes, I get it that she’s insecure. But you know what? I’m not an insentient object called “The Ex-Girlfriend.” It hurts to be treated as less than human. It hurt when she was doing it three months ago, six months ago, however-fucking-many months ago, and it hurts now. Especially when I was trying so damn hard, when David was still speaking to me, not to step on her toes.

It took me a while to figure out why exactly it bothered me so much. But I finally found words for it this morning:

You know what this feels like? “Hey Kat, we’re going to exclude you in every possible way from our lives, but we still feel perfectly entitled to dig into yours as much and as often as we like.”

I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t fucking WANT to deal with this. Letting her know I was on to her didn’t work — so what am I supposed to do? Tattle on her? To whom? Is this fucking third grade?

Fuck.