Tag Archives: addiction

Life as a really bad soap opera.

There’s no more surprises.  The conclusion is a little overdue.  Finding meaning is like grasping at straws.  Not even straws.  Those thin little brown, two-holed, stir-stick-straws that come with coffee and I’ve never really come to functionally understand.  Those straws are a parody on life in their own right.

I pushed my sister.

It was awful.  I thought it was almost funny, the way she wrapped around the arm of my couch before falling off the adjacent side of it.  It wasn’t funny.  It was pathetic.

It wasn’t even in slow motion.  It just happened as though it has happened a million times before….  Had it?  I don’t think so.

My conscience is foggy.  I pushed my sister and didn’t feel guilty, and I feel guilty about that.  Right?  Does that make me better?  It doesn’t feel like it does.

I mostly just feel empty.  But why should I feel anything?  Why do I care?  Obviously I felt angry, now what is she feeling?  Is she feeling like I failed as her brother as much as I feel I have been failing, failed, and will fail again at being…. a person?

What is a person?  Do people really make mistakes?  Is this forgivable?  Are they?

I feel very wronged.  I was hurt, so I lashed out.  I was let down.  I don’t want people in my life anymore.  People are bad company.  But I need people to live.  Money doesn’t grow on trees.  Experience doesn’t grow on trees.  It all grows on people.  Lets face it, I’m not sustaining myself.

I’m a user.  I’m addicted to people.  They are so bad for me but I need them.  But what am I even using people for?  What is it that I’m doing to make everything okay for me in the end?  Is that what life is supposed to look like?  You use my back, I’ll use yours?  Something like that.  That’s not living.  I should know, right?

I pushed my sister.  She cried and she left.  I wrote about it and am going to sleep on a bed of nails.

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Confessions of a Virgin Drinker

I have the next two days off work.  I am crying nonstop, on the hour, every hour.  My ex won’t text me back to arrange plans to talk in person again.  I don’t know why I’m doing myself the heartache anyways.  I guess I just want to see him one more time before I say goodbye.

He’s trying to convince me a goodbye would be a mistake.  He doesn’t talk to me, he’s incessantly cruel to me, he doesn’t seem to take my feelings into consideration or feel the need to do anything to keep me in his life other than say he wants me in his life.  And so now I’m drinking.

I’m pretty new to it.  I got drunk for the first time last week.  I was giddy and uncontrollably happy.  It was nice…  And tonight I’m alone.  I have a disgusting bottle of cherry vodka that tastes overwhelmingly like maraschino cherries–of which I like, but the vodka is just too much–and so I’ve decided I want it out of my cupboard.

I went to the store and bought 2 cartons of eggnog this evening.  I figured that’ll have enough punch to take the edge off the vodka.  And it does.  It’s still a pretty horrible mixture, and the eggnog curdles on contact, but what the hell do I care anyways.  I’m not supposed to know what I’m doing.  I’m just here to find my bliss.

Just now I’m starting to notice my head get warm.  My migraine doesn’t hurt so bad at the moment.  I have TMJD, and I’ve been clenching my teeth all week, day and night, with the stress and anxiety I’ve been feeling.  Maybe I can try and relax my jaw tonight.  Maybe I won’t have such a headache come sunrise.

–I’m off to pour another drink now.  I feel the need to say “be right back”, though when you read this it will be a seamless transition.  Nonetheless–be right back.–

‘kay, we’re good.  I found some Fanta at the back of my fridge, that certainly helps with the cherry vodka too.  I’m starting to feel a little more depressed, however.  I’m anxious about possibly seeing him [my ex] tomorrow, and I feel bloated and fat.  I want to look good for him.  I want to look like somebody worth missing and having regrets over, not some hung over, bloated fool.  Who am I kidding though.  He won’t look at me.

–I’m hoping I’ve been doing a good job at keeping literate throughout all this.–

I’m still just a virgin drinker.  It’s not taking much to get me going here.  I’m not feeling much happier as of yet, however.  But maybe this is what I need.  Maybe I need to be an alcoholic.  Maybe that will be my distraction.  I can go to AA meetings, I can meet new people, and I can focus all my energy into some other aspect of this slice of misery I’m supposed to call life.

–I just belched.  And it felt pretty awesome.–

But in all seriousness, I’m 20 and I haven’t done anything.  I’ve only just tried alcohal.  I’ve never smoked.  I’ve never tried marijuana, or any other type of drug.  I’ve more or less struggled with an eating disorder since middle school, but that’s been ongoing for so long it doesn’t even bear impact anymore.  Maybe I need something new to struggle with.  Maybe I just need to pour all my sorrows into a devastating illness; an addiction.  They say misery loves company, and so maybe I will just keep adding to mine until it all cancels out… right?

And these are my confessions.