I Have To Go To Bed

And I'm glad I have lots of pillows. Some from my friend Jody whom(?) I dearly miss. What the fuck am I doing?
I am just now going to bed after some tame debauchery. Some at the Pussy Palace. Some at Pepper Pod. Some with Hayley and Simon and Sam(?).
I don't know why, but I feel like my relationship just ended. I hope he doesn't care enough about me to read my blog because nothing really happened except me not respecting space. Surprise. That last thing about turning off the phone, it's scratching at me to the spine. I don't know what's going to happen when we talk again. I don't think I can handle him telling me that I need to fix something about myself or that I have some deep-seated issues or that he needs more time away from me. I just don't have anymore left in me. I want to wallow hard. I want to wallow so hard. I miss sadness. I've lost myself and I'm not even sure I had ever found myself.
I'm going to try to ignore the whole incident. That's healthy.
I'm going to cry.
There's not anything that I'm thinking that a million other people haven't already thought. I tell myself this because being unoriginal is my savior. It calms me down. You don't want to find too much solace in your melancholy.
I had 1800 calories today. (It's my new thing. Counting calories. Third day.)
I try to keep giving up things so I can work on something, but something is amiss. I feel not good enough. I think I'm not good enough. I'm not well off enough. I'm not pretty or skinny enough. I'm not smart enough. I'm not the one. Another notch. Another conquest in my future. I'm so tired of myself.
It's some damn balancing game. Cigarettes are my unfortunate brain food. Alcohol my thirst-quenching cherry coke on a sweltering summer afternoon. Sugar and caffeine my wake up calls. TV, the revered parent I never had. Romantic love, the one pillar in life aside from money, god, and kids that I do not abhor.
I am addicted to distracting myself.
Sometimes on a walk or bike ride across the bridge when no one is around, I dramatically stop to hang over the edge pondering wistfully if I could ever have the balls to jump off. Is that what happens when you're not addicted anymore?
Do you compare the scales and realize your addictions don't outweigh the heartache?
Our society has this weird view of suicide like it's an abomination. I would say living your life as if you are going to live forever is delusional.
Anyway, that's not where I was going.

I just wanted to say



                        I'm not happy.





P.S. WOTD is eschewed.