Go ahead and presume about me, I’m used to it anyway. You say that I think I’m always right? Oh honey, you have no fucking idea how dead wrong you are. I could count to you the many times in my life I’ve fucked up and its severity all in my sleep, and that wouldn’t even be half of it yet. I could tell you each and every single detail of guilt, disappointment, and anger that fills my body each time I make a mistake. I could tell you my entailed plans of trying to make things better, from as simple as forgetting it to attempting to runaway in the middle of the night and hide out in an unknown house, without warning in order to run away from the pain.
So go ahead, and keep thinking that. That, “Oh, you’re being so much like yourself, thinking you’re always right. Even when you don’t make sense, you think you’re right”. It might not make sense to you, but it does to me. And I guess it just goes to show that maybe you don’t know me that well at all.