Nobody ever loved me like shoe does

Ok so these are the top two meanest things you could do to me, both crimes of which my mother and father have already committed. If I ever accidently castrate you or break your heart, well you can use this as a guide to break mine back.

The problem about this is it's not the kind of heartbreak that goes away. Every single time I think about it, even though it has happened a year ago, the pain well it pinches my stomach in exactly the same way.

You can come to the conclusion after reading this that the only two things I value are superficial and materialistic well that just isn't true. I won't die if you do this to me but I will love you less and I will want to one-inch punch your nose until it isn't a nose but just one big hole in your face.

1) Throwing out my magazine collection. This still breaks my heart every single time I have to think about it. After I had collected over 150 magazines over three years my mother and father thought that throwing my collection in the trash would be some kind of fucked up incentive to cleaning my room. The ironic thing is, my magazine collection happened to be the only organized thing in my room at the time. The fact that they were probably recycled into some kind of eco-friendly toilet paper and the greatness of those pages are now being wiped with shit all over them, well that just breaks my heart.

2) Ruining my clothes. I'm actually a hypocrite when it comes to this because there's been about five times when I've either tried to be helpful by doing laundry or just been drunk and ruined my sister's clothes. But now more than ever I completely understand how much it hurts to have your clothes ruined. The fact that you poured your soul into earning those dimes (or your parents did). Your clothes are not just clothes. They don't wear you, you wear them. Every single time my suede shoes get scuffed or any alcohol is spilt on me a bit of me dies inside whilst another side of me will be silently or violently filled with rage and anger that if not retained could lead to death. I really don't care what people say, "but it's just a shoe".... when will you realize it's not just a shoe?

Call me melodramatic but the sad thing about these two things is that there is pretty much no way you can repay the person who you've caused the heartbreak. Those magazines can not be collected again. Even if you wanted to track down every single one of those magazines, you won't. And that one of a kind vintage dress with the lace back you bought on eBay? That can't be bought again. It's a fucking collection, a fucking past time, it isn't an investment or symbol of money.

Look, the way I see it even if you DO buy it for the person again, or pay the person back with the same amount of money, it just ain't the same. The money doesn't mean half as much as the times that one dress has been worn, what that shirt meant to the person, how those shoes made that person feel. That money, and future subscriptions you give the person won't repay for the magazines that gave the person hours of reading time and inspiration. Those clothes and magazines is what gave that very person (me) the entertainment and joy when the rest of the world failed to.

Yeah.. I'm going to be one of those women who die with a ridiculous amount of shit and nothing else to show for my life aren't I? Oh well, I hope I die in blue suede shoes reading a magazine.

Some helpful tips that may prevent a suicide:

Leather: should not have vodka spilt on it.

Suede: should not be worn at parties in the backyard's with grass/dirt involved.

Silk: should not be put through the wash or it will turn into a short piece of crepe paper.

Blood: should be washed immediately and if not washed properly will only spread and stain your clothes forever.

Alcohol: should be drunk naked so that you don't ruin your own or even worse someone else's clothes.

Don't let us down, and when I say us, I mean my clothes, magazines and I.

P.S. Here's some ridiculously privileged people. This is what my parents should have shown me instead.