This feels like the story of my life lately. I don’t mean to revert to Miserable Blogging again but this hurts. And tomorrow will not be better than today and today is not better than yesterday. My farts still stink and my heart is still bruised. Someone please tell me why this isn’t getting easier. Please.
It’s a certain type of hopelessness and I’ve gotten so good at ignoring it when I’m with people. Like relaying my embarrassing life to my best friend and laughing and being self-deprecating and hilarious. But when you go home, it’s just me and this perpetual embarrassment, perpetual emptiness. And I do believe that the key to happiness is keeping busy and I’ve been filling empty time with creative things (rather than studying, obviously). But the days are only getting longer and the nights are only getting longer.
Not consuming alcohol ever again seems like a tempting new project to get wrapped up in. I will save money and, more importantly, dignity. Though what’s left of that is pretty negligible, after Sunday night anyway. I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed ever. And that’s saying something, since I trip over thin air on a daily basis and find even chewing difficult some days. I am a mess. But I surpassed myself Sunday night, I really did. Thanks very much but I’ve had quite enough of that for one lifetime; I’m full.
I won’t ever get over this, will I? No.
I feel like a broken record. I wish I could turn this off. But I’m scared that if I do turn it off (again) that I’ll only be lying to myself and that when the curtain drops like it inevitably will, it'll be all the worse for having been hidden in the dark. It’ll return with angry vengeance. This stinks.
I am constantly trying to replace you. This will never work, mainly because people like you are dickheads and invariably hate me, and, let’s face it, it’s a little bit desperate on my part. More than a little bit really. It’s pathetic. It’s not going to work. But I have no idea what to do instead, I really don’t.
I hope we do move house. I would like a new place to lay my head, free of all the shitty memories I’ve created here. Cider spilled on the floor and sneaking out the window. I’m a mess. I’m a mess. I’m a mess. I’m a mess.
Popcorn, Minstrels, purple and Breaking Dawn. Plan? Plan. x