My life is a series of ebbs and flows. My gal could not have hurt me worse than she did a handful of hours ago– but this is what you sign up for when becoming engaged to a bipolar girl. I am as well. I get it. You say things that don’t mean shit. You might of thought them in regards to a fleeting memory, but you don’t intend to sear those close to you with these erroneous– but maybe perceptive thoughts. Or maybe you do. But, I do not. I say things that I never intend to stick to Meg’s gorgeous facade. I fuck up. I am never going to outgrow that, I have just learnt to admit that I did something wrong. I write this in a sheepish and forlorn manner. … I am so sorry that Megs fell in love with me. It took me 27 years to understand the depth and significance of my flaws. . I know I say things out of spite when in reality I am just and justly angry with myself. And I take the recoil of my fiance’s backlash as the same type of fuming and venting. Perhaps I am in denial, but if that were in fact a reality– would she be fucking me and with me after 4 years. Did not think so.