Fuck You man

You're right, I was wrong about you.
I wonder if its actually my problem, this seeing the good in people when its not actually there.
I obviously know its not his fault. Shit happens, but he handled it poorly and he seems uncaring and indifferent to the fact that I'm puking because of anxiety attacks. I can't help this, it comes with who I am. Its not like I WANT to puke.
But its not your fault. I get that.
I haven't eaten anything for the past week. Its too difficult to chew and swallow and food is sincerely grossing me out. I've managed to keep down fruit, vegetables and rice and that empty feeling that's sitting in the bottom of my stomach makes me feel comfortable, nothing else. Just comforting.
He said that one of the reasons why he wasn't attracted to me was because I didn't have any self confidence.
Sure. I get that too, cause I don't.
Not when it comes to him anyway? Why should I? He also said he'd give me a list of reasons as to why I suck. That was like getting beaten with an emotional 2x4.
When I tell people that the reason he doesn't want to date me is because I'm not confident, the look of absolute shock spreads across their already horrified faces. They say, "You Anna? YOU? That makes no sense." And I tend to agree, but the indifference is weaving its way into my comfort zone and I simply don't care enough to be bothered anymore.
The only good thing that came out of this was the conversation I wanted to have with my sister for ages. I'm tired of not having a connection with her and he brought us together in a way that I think only he could do. Good for him. At least he got something right.
People have asked me why I look so miserable. I say its because I'm tired, but the comforting feeling of an empty stomach is overshadowed with enormous pangs of disgust, self loathing and the most atrocious anger I've ever known.
The first stage of separation goes as follows: Desperation. The powerful stench of confusion, bent emotions and words getting caught in the middle of your throat, It burns throughout my mind, constantly reminding me that once again I have been fucked.The second stage balloons into an aggressive complex that makes me want to spite the bastard and everything and anything that's close to his heart. I want him to regret ever knowing me, I want him to regret not being able to have me. I want him to cry because he missed out on something that was more than he could ever possibly handle.The third stage is indifference. I just don't care anymore.
Chelsea said the reason why I liked having him around was because he belched out positive energy. She's probably right because he is the epitome of sunshine, but the more I think about him, the idea of dating him becomes absolutely asinine; my heart just needs to catch up with my brain.
And I need to stop chirping.
But I still feel like a god damn dumpster.
I should have known when he went online to talk to my sister after we fucked that it never would have worked. I should have been mad when he didn't get up the next morning to drive me to the bus stop. I should have been sly enough to turn an oblivious shoulder to his conclusion of our short-lived romance, but that's not who I am.
I can't not care. But I definitely can break his nose the next time I see him.