I don't like being me right now. I feel like going full turtle on the world, sinking back into my shell by taking this blog down, de-activating Facebook and hiding from everyone. Maybe stop going to my shrink, too. She's not helping. I am simply feeling pouty and like a kid that wants to be loved, but the more he acts up, the less lovable he is.
I had so much wanted to see Rienna, too. I think I was already in a teeter-totter state, but her cancelling our visit made me feel like I just don't have any hope of anyone ever giving a crap about me. Sure, I invested too much in what was to be a one day, possibly an hour or two visit. I just don't have much to look forward to these days, and I was really looking forward to that.
My daily routine is just a slow way of dying. I walk, I exercise, I eat my omelets and salads. I avoid alcohol and limit my caffeine and weed smoking to one time a week. I look forward to Saturday morning for that reason. The drugs make me "feel" something. But a little less, each time I do it.
I already know the path of addiction. The more you do, the less you enjoy it, until it finally starts working in reverse. It actually makes you feel bad. That's where I stand with alcohol. It makes me feel worse every time I drink, so I don't do that. It's pointless. But my mind remembers that it made me feel good in the past, so there's still a slight craving.
Ah, fuck it. I'm making this blog private again, so no one will get to read this. Boo hoo. I'm gonna be here, no one giving a fuck about me, until I'm not. Then who'll notice if I'm gone? Doubtfully, anyone at all. Goodbye.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.