i’m a little sick and tired of myself.

People see an overachiever who works relatively hard and is good at many things.

I see an insecure alcoholic who is struggling to get by. I’m reading “A Million Little Pieces” by James Frey and it’s terrible and wonderful and i hope for his sake that it isn’t all true. he describes things about his life that built up to his problems and i’m seeing things that i do too.

You, if you actually know me will probably say that i’m not an alcoholic. I hardly drink in your presence, right? I just have a few beers, hang out, nothing serious, right? What i’m concerned about is my drinking by myself. I don’t like the fact that i thinking about having a drink during lunch, or that i can’t wait to go home and drink.

Yeah, yeah, yeah I know it’s because I’m stressed out. That’s why my face looks like hamburger me. Thats why no one calls me.

No. I drink because it gives me the balls to behave like the loud fun person that i want to be. If i’m honest with myself, i admit that i’m shy. I’m worried about the same things that everyone else worries about and i hate that. Fuck going along with everyone else. (Fuck the dumb dogs that are running circles around the chair.) I’m extremely insecure. I just figured out a long time ago that if I pretend then it will be.

Fuck myself for feeling like cutting. I’ve never cut myself – in the past I just got another piercing. The pain, especially the kind that comes with doing it myself is soothing. I hurt me, and get distracted from the dumb things going on in my head. Last night… i decided to go and get food instead of cutting myself. I’m fucking pissed at myself about it too. I was drunk enough to be starving and chose to drive instead of cut. I had it all planned out too – i wear too many tanktops to cut my arms so i should just go for the legs instead, because then it wouldn’t should.


~ by manjamanis on May 15, 2008.

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