Punch me in the guts, until I vomit all this out.

Word vomit.

I'm sorry for being an emotion twat. For always letting the negative emotion push and pull the positive ones. For always being on the verge of tears, even when you're completely oblivious. Thank you, novels, for being my guidance. If not to help me, but to take me away from my own life and show me yours. Thank you, for not attaching photographs. For not proving to me that I shouldn't have thought what I thought: said what I said.
It's annoying when I want to go back on my word. For wishing so hard that I could turn back time. To tell you "No, I'm not okay with it. Sorry, but I have rules. Break them, and I'll break you: emotionally. And at the same time, I'll break myself." Sorry for being so hard to read. For being confusing and hypocritical. Sorry for not being straight forward with my emotions.
I thought I was okay with it, but evidentally, I'm not. I'm definately not okay with it. I want to hate you, but I can't. You asked me, and I said yes. So I hate myself. I hate myself that, right now, I'm on the verge of tears. The only thing stopping me is the witness in the other room.
I'll have a shower. I'll break down in there. At least you can't come over tonight, to stop be hurting myself.
Not physically, I assure you. But it might as well be.