To-Do?

I like lists.

• Grow My Hair Really Long; although, I've been at this for almost a year, Maybe by this time next year it will be long enough.


• Get A Death-Hawk; one of the reasons I'm growing my hair is to shave it off! Not a Mohawk, but a death-hawk! It's backbrushed and hairsrayed up (something I've got practice in) and looks funky as hell.


• Shave Head; I want a stylish funky hair cut though, afterwards. A kind of spikey, full of hair products funky look.


• Tattoos; I know they're for life, blah blah blah, I really want one! Something I'll do when I've moved out, got a job and enough money. By then I'll have more metal (not a rediculous amout, one more) and nice respectable hair... due to the "job".

You...

...know exactly how to make my heart go badoom!

It's rediculous now, I can't stop smiling!

Lies.

They're so much easier to deal with. I'm happier this way. It makes sense in my head, you go while I'm away and I'll just keep believing you'll come back. I know you wont but I'll keep the possibility that you may return tomorrow in my head. It'll keep me happy. People will ask me how we are and I'll reply "Just fine thank you," but they know something's wrong. So do I.

But I'm that sort of lunatic.

Dream On.

Listening to Depeche Mode. It makes you cool to listen to cool music.

Why is it when I decide I want a man, a boy, a relationship there are no choices?
Why is it that when I decide to stay away from relationships all together, about 4 or 5 people present themselves? Am I expected to make a decision? With all the offers at once, how can I possibley choose?

I tell you what, here's my offer;
I'm not going to choose. I'm going to completely ignore the lot of you. Oh yes, that's right, you heard me. I'm going to see who loses interest. I'm going to see who the good guys are and who I should avoid. I have a vague idea already but I never know for sure.

We've been going for almost 4 months now, you're my safety net. I know that when things go wrong with all they other boys I can come to you. I can call you up and arrange a saturday out. Then I'm with you and it goes away, it's just the two of us. You're everything I don't look for in a guy. You're like me but male. You're a prick to me, but I'm a cunt to you... and it works. I'm just completely and utterly jelous though when I see those pictures of you and other girls. You're not rightfully mine, I cannot shout at you for going to all those parties because it's not my place to do so. If we were together, you'd still go to these nights out and get drunk anyway. I doubt I could deal with that.

I know you wanted to kiss me that night we sat on the second floor, even though I said I didn't notice, I knew. It was obvious, you made it so obvious. I was too busy running to the first floor trying to kiss that last boy I mentioned. "I can see i'm a little unstable". I gave you th completely wrong impression, but I was just trying to be nice. I shouldn't have though, I should have made it clear that day that I was not interested. You're a perfect boy, and any girl would be lucky to have you. I feel that if I was with you, you would be great for me. You would treat me like gold. But alas, I know I do not deserve gold.

You are a funny one. Rediculous, infact. We'd only just met and you were already trying to sway my emotions. You're a laugh, but that is all. You're fun. That doesn't mean I will shrug you off this saturday, ofcourse not. I do what I do all the time, and you'll think you have a chance, but I'm jst a tease and you're just some fun. You can have my kisses and my hugs, but you will not have my heart, because I know that you don't want it. You don't like me, you like my face.

I will never stop trying for you. I can't stop myself.

I hate this.

What?

I am always filling in the blanks. I can't keep up. You've thrown it all away, just like that. I don't know what to do. I want to be sick. I want to cry. I want to go back to who I was. I want it back. I need a break. I need you. This is why I can't stop you. I can't stop you, I don't have the power.

It's Breaking Me.

I believe in you and me
I'm coming to find you
If it takes me all night
Wrong until you make it
And I won't forget you
At least I'll try
And run, and run tonight
Everything will be alright

I am not as strong as this. I can't hold up these walls around me. They're crumbling, I can't hold them. You know I'm not this capable, yet you persist to test my independance. Why? I thought this was love. I was always told that love was beautiful. It can't be. It's turning me into something ugly.

"Stay if you wanna love me, stay
Oh don't be shy, let's cause a scene
Like lovers do, on silver screens
Lets make it, yeah, we'll cause a scene"

I don't know how to do this anymore. Nothing makes sense. These walls will some crashing down. I will be exposed for what I truely am. Weak, pathetic, vunerable little girl.

It's not my fault I am this way. To be honest, It's your fault. Not just you, all of you. Every boy that's ever hurt me, every girl that's ever slated me. Each and every friend of mine. You've all molded me into what I've become, it's just a shame that what I have become is something you're not so fond of anymore. Miss Independant, Miss Self Sufficient, Miss Keep-Your-Distance. It's my mums fault, for telling me day in, day out; "You either hurt or be hurt. Break hearts, don't let any boy break your heart."... and I obviously took this into great seriousness.

I refuse to let anyone see me as soft, caring, dependant. I will not let anyone be soft towards me, care for me or depend on me. These are my walls. I need to keep them standing, sheltering me.

I will not, I cannot say goodbye anymore. I can pretend, I'll happily pretend that you will never leave me again. But you will, I know it, it always happens. I cannot win this one. Either way, whatever happens, I will get hurt. I hate being hurt. I hate this I hate me for getting myself involved. No more goodbyes, please.

I'm Complicated.

It's been four months. November, December, January and February. So what, we weren't going out? Who cared? I sure as hell didn't. It fitted my schedule. You never really wanted me that much, I learned to deal with that. Make most of what you have? That's what I did, I made the most of that thing we had.

We just did things that couples do. We did Glasgow, we held hands, we kissed, we got drunk and funny, we argued, we danced, we watched movies... It's nice. It's no strings attached. It means I have you on tap, and you have me whenever you feel you need me. It means I don't have to see you, I do it by choice.

Things are fine the way they are. Seeing as you don't remember trying to change them, I'm going to leave them the way they are.

My Days Are Made By You.

To the man that walks by me wearing my favourite smell, Joop, thank you.
To the man that will walk past me and turn around once I have past him, thank you.
To every girl that sees me and whispers something nasty to her friend, thank you.
To my friends that aren't ashamed to hang around with me, thank you.
To people that go to the bother of taking photos and getting them developed, thank you.
To people that send random texts to me for no reason, just saying hello, thank you.
To the artists that can write songs as if they've been reading my mind, thank you.
To the mind readers, thank you.
To the Irn Bru Carnival, thank you.
To everyone that told me I would love again, thank you.
To the graphics and art departments, thank you.
To Mrs Slaughters rediculous yet fabulous outfits, thank you.
To Cute Is What We Aim For, Kids In Glasses, Panic At The Disco and any other lyrically excellent bands, thank you.
To coffee, crisps, chocolate, fruit pastels, nutella and softmints, thank you.
To my cousin Stephanie, for being a nutter and an influence, thank you.

To almost every other sixth year in the school, no thanks will go to you for judging me before knowing me.
To the male half of the human race, you're not getting thanks for making my life a living hell.
To exams, if you think you're being thanked you can just piss off.
To mental breakdowns thinking they can bring me down, I'm better than that, no thanks.
To the creepy guys that always get the wrong impression when I'm nice to them, no thank you.
To 'snideys' from people that know I don't deserve it, you'll get a thank you when you wisen up.
To sunburn, you're never being thanked.
To the top floor of the cathouse, thanks will be given when you start acting your age.
To scene kids, no thanks.
To adults telling me to be mature, no ta.

Mental Breakdown.

Definition
Like the term "sanity," the terms "nervous breakdown" and "mental breakdown" do not have any medical definition and are not used in a clinical sense. They therefore do not necessarily have a rigorous or static definition. They can be used colloquially to describe anything from a momentary fit of anger to the onset of a permanent psychological disorder. In almost all cases, however, the "breakdown" is the result of unmanageably high stress.

A similar, more rigorously defined phenomenon is Transmarginal Inhibition, which might be seen as a kind of mental breakdown in response to harsh conditioning. Note that a mental breakdown is not the same as a panic attack, though mental breakdowns can trigger panic.

Specific cases are usually described as a "breakdown" only after a person becomes unable to function in day-to-day life due to mental illness.[1] The person's condition is then advanced, and seeking professional aid is advisable.

Potential causes

• Causes of breakdown might include:
  
• a traumatic, violent, or near-death experience
  
• academic problems
  
• bullying
  
• career burnout or job dissatisfaction
  
• chronic and unresolved grief
  
• chronic insomnia and other sleep disorders
  
• chronic or newly discovered illness/disease
  
• death of a family member
  
• deception by a loved one
  
• divorce
  
• employment discrimination
  
• homelessness
  
• post-war trauma
  
• pregnancy
  
• relationship breakup
  
• serious or chronic illness of a family member
  
• stress e.g. caused by work-related problems or financial difficulties etc
  
• unemployment
  
• unrequited love
  
• involuntary celibacy
  
• unresolved sexual identity crisis
  
• use of certain drugs

The sudden, acute onset of the following mental illnesses might be classified as breakdowns:

• anxiety
  
• bipolar disorder
  
• clinical depression
  
• dissociation
  
• post-traumatic stress disorder
  
• psychosis
  
• schizoaffective disorder
  
• schizophrenia
  
• severe stress

I think I'm having one.

Chocolate.

My Number One Friend.

I'm upset. I'm angry. I'm tired. I'm stressed. I'm full of revenge. Who can I turn to?

Galaxy.

Oh, chocolate. You've become a rediculous obsession.

I Am Watercolour.

Radio is a passion of mine. It's the reason I have discovered so many fantastic songs. Recently, I've listened to one station... although I've never bothered to check what it is. But they read poetry in the evenings. It's a nice change to music, to sit and listen to someone nattering away.

This one, I liked.

For My Lover, Returning To His Wife
Anne Sexton

She is all there.
She was melted carefully down for you
and cast up from your childhood,
cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies.

She has always been there, my darling.
She is, in fact, exquisite.
Fireworks in the dull middle of February
and as real as a cast-iron pot.

Let's face it, I have been momentary.
A luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor.
My hair rising like smoke from the car window.
Littleneck clams out of season.

She is more than that. She is your have to have,
has grown you your practical your tropical growth.
This is not an experiment. She is all harmony.
She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy,

has placed wild flowers at the window at breakfast,
sat by the potter's wheel at midday,
set forth three children under the moon,
three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo,

done this with her legs spread out
in the terrible months in the chapel.
If you glance up, the children are there
like delicate balloons resting on the ceiling.

She has also carried each one down the hall
after supper, their heads privately bent,
two legs protesting, person to person,
her face flushed with a song and their little sleep.

I give you back your heart.
I give you permission --

for the fuse inside her, throbbing
angrily in the dirt, for the bitch in her
and the burying of her wound --
for the burying of her small red wound alive --

for the pale flickering flare under her ribs,
for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse,
for the mother's knee, for the stocking,
for the garter belt, for the call --

the curious call
when you will burrow in arms and breasts
and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair
and answer the call, the curious call.

She is so naked and singular
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.

As for me,
I am a watercolor. I wash off.

My Possessions.

Get your hands off my phone, it's mine, leave it alone. Give back my gloves! I need them, it's cold. Don't tug at my shirt, you, I will seriously hurt you. Is it that big a deal if I take off my shoes?

Hand me my bag, I'll show you what I have. Useful items and pointless bric-a-brac. What do you need?

Are you bleeding? Here's a band aid.

Are you tangled? Here's a brush.

Are you sweating? Here's my deoderant.

Are you dirty? Have a wet wipe.

Are you cut? Have an antiseptic cleansing wipe (alcohol free).

Are you ugly? Search through my make up bag.

Are you stressed? Have some chocolate.

Are you good looking? Grab my camera and take a picture.

Bad breath? Have a trebor soft mint, peppermint.

Raining? Have my umbrella, I warn you, it's broken.

But don't even think about touching anything without asking.

"

I don't know how you charmed your way into my heart. I don't know how you skuck your way into my arms.

I'm just a stupid girl with a stupid crush.

I think that's all I'm capable of; crushing. Crushing is a horrible term. Imagine someone came up to you, someone you didn't know too well and they say soemthing along the lines of "I'm crushing on you" or "I've got a cruch on you...". The first image that pops into my head is the cartoon of a house with arms and legs coming out from underneath and a little speak bubble that reads "help! i'm being crushed on!". If that's the case, I never want to be crushed on.

I feel I am to old to crush. Isn't crushing for first years? Not 17 year olds. 17 year olds can drive! They shouldn't be allowed to have crushes on people. There should be another word for it, when you hit a certain age. Although, I never say "Iv'e got a crush on *insert boy-that-looks-like-girl's name here*" anymore, I now say, "I am interested in *insert wanker*". It gives off a more mature impression, I think. Not that I'm saying I'm mature, I'm not really, I'm just getting old. It's the same as when you hear an old woman say "This is my boyfriend," which is a blatant lie, he's your friend but he's no longer a boy, he's a man.

I'm trying to be older than I am, aren't I?... Why am I asking you? You are mearly a laptop and not once have you replied to me!

I don't crush anymore. I can't do it. I don't see boys/men as possible matches. I see them as fun. I'm sure that's probably rather insulting to them really... That the only reason I'm taking an interest to them is because they are 'fun', but surely they'll understand that I find it insulting that they're only taking an interest in me because I possibility for sex? I'm not just a woman, I'm a person.

See me as genderless! I should change my name to something more uni-sex. Sam? Alex? Jordan? I want to change my name..."

Body Modification; Insanity.

Scarification. Beautiful.

My legs are covered in bruises. I don't know for sure where they came from but I have an idea it was when Johnny tripped me over in the snow and when Dicky kept nipping my legs when we were on the train. I love my bruises. They're all blue and purple, sore to touch. Fabulous, in my own opinion. It's a change from my legs being pink and pale.

I've started to look at my body to see what's missing. I used to look at my tongue and think there was a metal bar missing... that was short lved though. For a while, I thought there was a metal bar missing from my lip... I got it shoved in and I'm rather happy I did. I still have not felt the need to take it out and I doubt I will for a very long time.

I look at my shoulders now and I think "man... they're bland". I don't want something cheesey like those swallow tattoos (no offence to anyone with them, they're just not my cup of tea) but I'd love something there, just some ink to brighten up my shoulders. My back is a blank canvas. Lolas' tattoo, of the wings; the placebo wings, is one that I would consider. But alas I fear that getting these would be too much like copying and that goes against the whole point of me being me.

Scarification is something I'd love but never go through. It seems much more delicate (the result, obviously not the proceedure) that ink and metal. I'd never be able to pluck up the courage to do it. One of the big reasons I wouldn't do it is because it's a scar. I have no need for any more scarfs, if you please. As much as I love my scars, I don't think having one simply for decorative purpose would agree with everything else I have ever done. What would this scar mean? Nothing, it just looks nice.

As I said, I love my scars, my metal. I love all types of scars, metal and ink. I love all weird and wonderful ways of making yourself stand out from the crowd. I'm not the kind of person that thinks "when i hit 16 im going to get pierced to shit, man!", or "dude, when we're 18 lets wreck our bodies with ink!" or anything else along those lines...

I'm spur-of-the-moment Heather Cameron. If I want a piercing/tattoo/body mod of any sort I'll decide the night before and forget to mention to my parents.

50th Post

It's so embarrassing to think that I've cried over people. People that now mean nothing to me. Why did I bother?

"I Told You To Leave Me There"

It's Valentines Day and I'm sitting alone watching Forrest Gump. Sums me up pretty well I think. He's in the hospital because he got shot "directly in the buttocks" and he's just recived all the letters from Jenny.

I have nothing to say today, I hate that. I'm in a foul mood, I hate that more though.

I no longer do now. I just simply exist now, I'm not living, I'm just being. One of the most horrible feelings is that of not belonging.
My day consists of nothing. Well, that's a lie, it consists of the same things, day in, day out. I wake up, I put make up on and tie my hair up. I leave the house in the morning and have a coffee somewhere, anywhere. I meet up with people to take my mind off of this and I go home. I go to my room, I throw on a movie and I eat far too much chocolate. My day is made up of coffee, movies, friends, chocolate and the internet; things I've ended up relying on far too much.

Coffee. I had one this morning. I had it with 6 sugars. I was in a weird mood after that. I love it. It's the same with anything, the alcohol or the drugs. Any of the mind altering substances. It's like, I don't know, a change? The chance to not be myself, even if it's for a little while, it's a break. A break from reality.

I am happy with the person that I am. I achive as much as I can. The problem is that I am sick of me. Day in day out putting up with the same old me. I couldn't be more bored of myself. Same old brand new me, forever.

Heather?

I don't know if I can yell any louder

How many time have I kicked you outta here?

Or said something insulting?

da da da da-da

I can be so mean when I wanna be

I am capable of really anything

I can cut you into pieces

But my heart is....broken

Da da da-da da

Please don't leave

I sometimes feel that I'm a bit of a let down. I don't live up to my reputation. I don't mean to be big headed or anything, I just think some people meet me and think "Wow," but then get to know me and it's just not the same...

I don't want you to fall for me. I really don't. I don't want to let you down at all. I wish I wasn't me sometimes.

Please Don't Leave Me.

That's my neighbour and her two dogs; Mac and Tosh. I never realised until after I took the picture. I like this picture because it looks like she's engulfed by the woods. The path, that has been walked before, the trees towering over her.. but she walks, head held high; not afraid. Audrey.

Recently, I have started to listen to more spoken word poetry that I usually do. I really enjoy it. I think it's something that high class people will never agree with, as it's not as 'proper' as the poetry they read. Spoken word is so much more intellectual that any of their metaphorical crap. Not just the fact it rhymes, the things the poets speak about, the way they deliver their poems; with feeling, everything about them just screams excellence!

Recently, I have started to contemplate weither the male half of the species is really worth all the hastle.
Recently, I have realised that all the hastle I went to when I was trying harder to be 'one of the guys' was slightly ludacris! It's starting to annoy me that sometimes a few of my friends forget that I am a girl. I have a vagina and breats, boys! So don't include me in your vulgar discussions.

"Don't blame it on my heart, blame it on my youth",I can't wait until that big ole V day!
pointless post.

No.

I want to see how it feels to slap you across the face. I want to know if you had any intentions of hurting me. I want to know if it ever came into your head that what you were about to do might effect me in some way. I want to know why you weren't man enough to speak to me before I left. I want to know why you're such a big girl.

I know you think you're Gods gift to women. I know you think you can get whatever and whoever you want. I know that you're no better than any other number. I know that I am better than you. I know that you didn't want me, you just liked the idea.

I'm just as bad, really. I can hardly blame you.
I was at the Cat House, as where the two boys that I was interested in. Now, none of them are. Now, because I'm such an idiot, I've chased them both away. The second one... well, it's probably for the best, judging on tonight, that I never "got with" him. But the second one... I don't know.

I realised the other day that me and 'him' have had this on again off again kind of seeing each other over the hedge thing for 3 months. 3 months! 3 months, Heather, if this was a relationship it would have been your second longest. Heather Cameron, the girl that can't do relationships. This became my new aproach; a sort of "let's just meet up at the weekend and be coupley, kiss and hug and hold hands, then spend the rest of the week arranging what we'll do again at the weekend.", this was my no strings attached arrangement. But it's worked exactly the same as my regular relationships, just means it lasts a bit longer.

I have started to lose interets in the boy. I wish I wouldn't, I wish it would last like this for longer. Charlotte always says to me "you can't help the way you feel". But damn, if I could then I'd be able to be so much nicer to him because he's a really nice lad when it boils down to it.

The other boy, I realise now, isn't worthy of my time. As angry as I am, it's not because I'm gutted, it's because he can't do that to me. He cannot lead me on, string me along, I don't care who he is or who he thinks he is, he can't do that to me. Me. Heather Cameron. The best thing. Better than him, ofcourse. But generally, I'm a nice girl. I deserve better.

Don't Struggle Like That; I Will Only Love You More.

My Grandad is a truely excellent man. Despite him being homophobic (you can hardly blame him, he's of that generation, he hasn't yet adapted to the times) and stubborn, he is a fighter. He's already fought through a heart attack a few years ago, now a stroke has tried to take him down but he is having none of it!

My mum told me off when we got out of the hospital. Apparently I'm useless because I didn't break down. I think my family expected more of a reaction out of me, but since when have I been one to express such a strong emotion infront of people that close to me? It was important to me that I didn't break infront of them, and especially, infront of my grandad.

He was responding well which could only be a good sign. The last time my mum visited, he didn't even recognise her, he wasn't moving or speaking. Today he knew who she was and understood that we had visited. My mum held his hand and he held it, she explained to him how freezing it was outside and that she was still cold from the weather. My uncle Tommy arrived. My mum made a joke about aloe vera (my Grandad loves the stuff!) and we could tell that he understood. He tried to talk but couldn't get any words out, just noise.

That really got me upset. My Grandad is the sort of guy that gets frustrated about little things, and not being able to get the words out is something I know would really tick him off.

I think this visit was harder for the family because they could see how upset he was getting. As before, we weren't getting much from him, but now he was responding and that got a reaction out of us. At one point while I went for a coffee, he pointed at my cousin Rebecca. He could move his arm up and point, phenominal really. She went over and said hello, not really knowing what to say.

It really shows you how horrific it can be when your family get hurt. Me and my Grandad were never exceptionally close, but I know that this was one thing I hope to never see again. He was just not his usual self. I never thought it would be this bad.

I am a rock, I am being strong for the benifit of my Mum. Right now, she needs a Gal Pal and a someone to let it out with. I know she's sick of my dad running around after her and my brother just drives us all up the wall. My mum knows I am here. Today was my way of showing her that this will not stop me trying to help her, because that's what she needs right now.

Michael, you're a fighter and you will get better, cause you're a stuborn wee buggar like that.

Strange & Beautiful

Right now, I see myself at an Attractive Age. I'm 17, by the way, for those of you who don't know me. Seventeen, legal enough to sleep around and drive but not old enough to be drunk while doing it.


Let me expand more on this "Attractive Age", shall I? I was looking around at the poeple in my year of school, all the different groups at their selected lunch tables. By the way, I still need to write about Lunch Tables, they say alot more than just "eat on me!". As I was saying, I saw that some of the S6 pupils are really pretty, good looking and 'fit'. Is it only because we're at this age, an age that makes you think of school as a Cat Walk and shopping is a sport? I've not hit the point, yet, where I start to really worry about how I look. But that's probably just in my nature.

I think it's the age groups, to be honest. In primary school, you never had the option, your parents picked your clothes (as they did with everything else, your friends, your food habits ect ect), weither it was those aweful trousers that hooped around your feet... what was their purpose? The picture at the top of the post must have been the day I stopped my mum choosing what I wear and decided I'd go shopping with her.

I remember coming to Hermitage Academy, aged 11, and suddenly feeling the need to buy a Kookai and Jane Norman bag. Jane Norman isn't a real person by the way, just a name the company decided to use. I also wanted a big white coat with a fluffy hood, and a rediculous amount of different coloured head bands. I was never good with keeping up with different trends, I spent about three years trying to look "nice" until I realised that nobody cares!


When you come to 13-15, anything can happen, but it will most likely be a fashion that's extreme. Exaggerrated fashion, trying to emphasise how much you like it but only succeeding to look like a tool. When I was at this age, I couldn't have been... there's no way of saying this without sounding vain, big headed or jus silly; I didn't look half as good then as I do now. That's mainly because I made myself look silly for the attention, to make people question me and to break the mould. It's also because between the age of 13 and 15, you are still kind of chubby from being all young, aren't allowed to branch out your shopping destinations as much as you can when you become 16 or older.

16; no longer a half. Earning your own money and staying at school by choice. Dressed to impress; mainly the opposite sex. I never got to be in a clique or anything like that, never had a specific lunch table or a hang out spot. Now, once I hit 16, I had a specific group of friends, there are seating arrangements and other important things. Clothing isn't a problem with my "clique", but I could imagine it is very important with the other tables. The majority of them are all in the new rave indie gear that I've never been a big fan off.

To conclude, I hate trends. I feel like the age I am at right now is the most stressful when it comes to fashion. I've never been one to think of others though so really... count me out on your little cat walk rubbish.

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic.

"Every little thing she does is magic
Everything she do just turns me on
Even though my life before was tragic
Now I know my love for her goes on" - Police

Finally, a song that speaks positively about a woman. I feel quite bad for the female race sometimes... well, alot of the time. Most songs now-a-days are boys singing about that girl that left and how miserable he is. To those boys that write those songs; I see through you, this is just as evil guilt trip to win her back but it won't work. There are hardly any songs that are about women and the joy they have brought to men. Women aren't as bad as I make them out to be!

Men; you can't just blame women (or her, not just the whole female race) for you being miserable. Let's say she just out of the blue told you she has to leave you and it was aweful, you both cried at each other and got all emotional. Blah blah blah. It's hard on you, yes, but can you not imagine that maybe it's even worse for her? You'll probably find that you had driven her away, anyway.

Say she cheats on you, and you - being a big baby - try to win her back. Don't bother, the problem isn't that she's a woman, it's that she's a shit person. It's for the best really, atleast now you can say "better off without you" and mean it! If you cheat on her and try to win her back... I have no sympathy for you, you are the scum of the earth and she shouldn't have to put up with your whining.

Just a general message to all boys out there; the pathetic needy look isn't attractive. There are people out there *cough* that think it's quite weird and scary. Calling up all the time, generally guilt tripping the girl, almost stalking! It's not good. It makes you look bad. If she can move on, so can you. There are plently of fish in the sea. It's nice, I guess, for you to let a girl know that you still like and and that, but telling her you can't live without her... number one; that's a blatant lie, otherwise you'd be dead, and number two; it'll only drive her away more so.

Women are complicated, yes, and they're not all worth it, but there are a good few somewhere that can be nice and lovely and all that. Don't loose all faith in them just because one decided to screw you over (she only did it because it helps to get rid of you, which is better for everyone), there are plenty more out there...

Actually, don't listen to me, I am not one to be dishing out relationship advice!
My point was really, just that all you guys out there should maybe stop trying to be dicks to your ex's? Maybe? Just a thought.