I mean, yes, according to my reckoning, she did something incredibly shitty to me. In spite of the fact that I like her, I simply can't deny that. I've only got my own judgment to lean on, though, because I'd be a rat if I told anyone else about it. And when the whole world seems to love her, it's pretty easy to doubt yourself. And, fuck, that she's more talented than me . . . I don't know why that bothers me so much. There are a million people out there more talented than me and I'm perfectly comfortable with it. But somehow, the fact that she earns praise from those who only seem to compliment my work on a friendly level kills me. I mean, it really hits me that this thing that I've decided to devote my life to is something I'm not good enough at to be of any real consequence to me. It barely makes sense. It's all bound up in, for no good reason, losing someone I love, I guess. I hate this state of being a lot. I know what I need to do--I need to be productive to get my mind off of it. But the catch is, every time my confidence starts to inch back up, there's something else to remind me that someone who was a good friend for more than a year abruptly decided she didn't give a fuck about me. How the hell can one person possibly be so cold? I suppose it could have something to do with the fact that she has a billion friends, and my constitution doesn't seem up to having more than a couple, none of whom I can talk to about this. So it all comes down to my blog again, my last damn friend, and even here I can't talk directly about it.
Another part of me says distracting myself isn't useful. I have to find some way of dealing with this or it's just going to keep coming back to hit me. I don't think there is anything I can do about it, though. I can only wait it out and hope to become as big a bastard as she is . . .