Saturnine in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

I went to San Francisco this week. It was disastrous mainly because it illustrated how I can’t seem to keep my emotions in check.

We were out having a good time, and then out of nowhere, Richard vanished. I came out of the restroom and found him in a shady corner making out with some strange guy. I ran up to Shellby and said, “I have to go” and I ran off into the night. When I finally came back, Shellby was frantically searching for me, and Richard had no idea I’d even gone.

But I was stoic. In reality I was seething with rage. I walked up to Richard, who was still dancing with the guy, told him to give me the keys to the apartment because I was leaving. He said he would come with me and I said, “Don’t bother.”

But he jumped into the car with me. The entire time Shellby was blocking my way, trying to stop me from leaving. But I wouldn’t listen. The entire ride home I sat silent while Richard stared at me in disbelief because tears were running down my cheeks. I’ve never cried in front of Richard.

I don’t know how to explain it. I felt like trash. I felt like absolutely nothing. And in that one instance, I wanted to die. I understood why people killed themselves. I didn’t want to have to deal with any more of this stupid place and these stupid people. I was tired of constantly feeling inferior for no reason.

Richard and I silently went to bed. We slept with 3 feet between us. I got up at the crack of dawn and left for Sacramento before he even awoke. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, and I’m not even sure I want to.

It’s not even worth it anymore.