Except that he won't talk to me, now. I don't know what I did wrong, if anything. It only reinforces the cruel self-loathing that's been rising up. It only reinforces what it whispers to me, and it only makes me feel less.

He won't talk to me. Why won't he talk to me? I don't know what I did wrong.

I wish he would just tell me. He was the one that emphasized being honest, communicating, not fucking around with each other's emotions. So why is he doing just that?

Fuck.

I thought he was different.

And the parade of self-destruction only grows.

You want to know what he said, just a few moments ago?
That his phone was off. He just turned it back on. I don't know whether to hold onto my self-righteousness and anger and hurt, or believe him. He's going to hurt me, either way. He already has.

God damn it.