Monsters, Tesosterone, and Things I Don't Understand

Hey you, yeah you. I'm not going to thank you for encouraging me to take up guitar this time. I would like to share how much I dislike you for encouraging me to become someone who I wasn't, someone I never dreamed I could turn into. So, I guess, thank you for shattering the bounds of my ability to imagine how horrible a person could become with a simple change in her life. And you, the other one, you didn't encourage it openly, you just encouraged it with jokes and attention. But either of you only own a fraction of the blame her. 1/100 to be exact. The rest of that 100? It goes to me. I let myself loose sight of my values, what I believed in to go and follow what ever tesosterone filled boys liked me. (Yes, liked. I no longer believe that you loved me at all, Assface.) I allowed myself to become a monster. I forgot about my friends. My world consisted of me and my boys, and anyone who would listen about me and my boys. I dominated sleepover conversations selfishly. I bragged about the attention I got from the boy my friend cared for so dearly, and flirted with him infront of her all the time. I stopped being able to care about my friends most of the time. I would try to listen, and to emotionally invest in what they had to say, but I couldn't. My mind would always jump back to what I had to say next. I hurt my friends. Badly. I'm amazed they put up with me as kindly as they did. They were amazing about me being shitty. They kept me as a friend when I least deserved to me. I can't exactly figure out why they'd do that besides being such lovely, amazing, wonderful girls, because I certainly had to redeeming qualities at that time. I wasn't even aware that I was so awful to them. My mind was up in a little pink bubble of the opposite gender and ignorance. I stayed a monster for a very long time. At least half a year. Only they could tell you when I stopped, if I did at all. So many moments that should have been amazing for them, I recked. I screwed up the tiniest things too. There's no way I'll ever be able to pay them back. There is no bride's maids dress ugly enough, no number of times that I could save their lives, there is nothing to settle the debt. 

8th grade-the year i killed.

summer-the vacation i killed.

9th grade-the year i killed.

10th grade?-i hope i dont fuck up