Is it the 22nd yet?

Why do I let him get to me?
I fucking hate his guts right now. My thoughts are all in a jumble and it's keeping me awake. I may be awake til 3AM or later, who knows. I want to wake up at 8AM so I can go for a run. I'm not sure that's going to happen. I already have a headache thinking about it on top of what I've been thinking about already.
I fucking hate him and I want to tell him to go to hell.
I hate how he flirts with every single girl...and in front of me to boot! Last Friday at Rosie's I had to force myself to look away when I saw him get up and pull Ashley up to dance. It was short, but still, very flirty. Doesn't he have any respect for me? I've told him over and over and over again how I still have feelings for him and how crappy he makes me feel when he does this to me. Alisa has had to tell him this too, because, after all, they ARE "best friends." I fucking hate that term. Why did he have to move in on her right as she started working at our store? All of this time, I have a feeling that he never did care for me or like me. He is destined to remain single and flirt with girls. Twenty years from now he will have a beer gut, still trying to flirt with girls our age, and will be miserably single for the rest of his life.
This headache is getting worse. And I need another cigarette.
I want to cry but I have to force myself to be a big girl because I've cried more than I ever wanted to over our relationship and ex-relationship.
I even tried to not call him. That turned into dialing his number and then hanging up as soon as I heard the other end ring. I tried leaving my phone off and at home for a couple days. I tried lying, saying that I had lost my phone, but when I texted him an hour ago saying that I had found my phone and that "WE NEED TO TALK," I knew it was useless. I'm a spineless jellyfish - I can't let go of him. That's why I'm really really REALLY looking forward to Thursday - when he takes a bus to L.A. to visit with friends and family before he goes to Texas. Loser - he's taking the bus. I really don't want to think or talk about or to this jerk anymore because I'm sick of it! I've talked about everything with him and about him! Enough is enough! There's nothing more to interrogate or read into! I can't wait until he leaves - I want him out of my life. It'll be much easier for me to heal when I don't have to think about him everyday because I have the opportunity to talk and see him everyday. He'll be in the next state over, being way too busy and having a ball living it up before he gets the ol' military ball and chain strapped to his ankle. Far be it for me to throw anymore drama in his face. Because that drama does come back to me and I'm tired of it.
I just want to go to sleep! I may be more stressed now about falling asleep sooner than I am about him. He makes me sick. He makes me smoke. He makes me stressed. He makes me sad. He makes me mad. He makes me confused. He makes me jealous. He makes me depressed. He makes me think too hard. He makes me read too deep into situations. He makes me want to rip out my hair. He makes me want to slap him.
Thursday, please come sooner than later. I really want him to feel sorry for what he's done to me. I can't believe I believed him when he said he'd protect me and always care for me. What a fuckin' douchebag liar. I can't trust him. Ever. He will always be a little boy.
Times like these make me want to reject food in every form. Then maybe I could get skinnier.
I fucking hate you Dudley. Go to hell. I hope your Dad finds the Guinness in your fridge so he bans you from home and that you can never return. Then I hope you come groveling to me asking for help and a temporary roof on your head, and because karma's a bitch, I will turn you away. Fuck you. You make my heart hurt. You make my eyes cry. You turn my smile upside-down. You make me want to kick and scream like a little Gucci pig (whatever that means). And now, you're making me tired by keeping me awake, thinking about all this, and you're making my wrist hurt because I had to type all of this.
There is no blaming me. It's all your God-damned fault.