14th
January 14th, 2010: Sick Riddance.
January 14th, 2010. 12:04 a.m.
So I guess everything is moving. After being put on hold for three days due to an endless sneeze and a migraine that could split ice, I’m back to “normal.” One of the bad things about being half dazed on Nyquil for three days is that the time you spend thinking is ten times above what is normally is, which is already too much. I’d like to blame it on the drugs and maybe a significant part of me can for playing red rover with thoughts. I’m just to the point where it always comes back to the same question.
WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE.
One half:
I want to be a girlfriend, his girlfriend. Hell, I could get married right now. I want to marry someone who will let me be as domestic as possible. I don’t want any direction in my life other then the one that will lead me to the person I’ll be spending the rest of my life with. Too many options, this is easy, reliable, and easy.
Other half:
I don’t want to give myself to anyone, ever. Setting yourself up for failure is in no way beautiful, no matter how well you sugar coat it. They’re all the same, they’re all idiots. They’re pigs before 30, and then afterwards they’re boring. I want to move to NYC. I want to make clothes. I want to be bigger then this town, and I want to stop talking and start doing. I want it now, I don’t want to wait. And I want to do it all alone.
One quarter:
I want to forget everything, and move to the middle of nowhere. I’m scared, deeply and truly to the bone. I don’t know what I want. New York is too big, there are no trees. I want to move in a small house surrounded by no one. I want to write until you can read every thought in my head in fine print. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I need to rehabilitate myself until I have a plan. I’m not the person I want to be, and I don’t know who that is. I just know that I’m unhappy, so unhappy, and every exit just leads me in circles. Before I know it, I’m back to the core, and I just can’t take it anymore. I wish my mom was normal, I wish my dad had never left, I wish I could focus, I wish I wasn’t selfish enough to respectably take care of my brother, I wish everything that happened two years ago never happened, I wish I wasn’t scared of driving, and goddamnit I wish there was something about me that made you want to keep me. I feel like I’m going to explode. There’s never a night that I don’t cringe with some form of regret. I’m sick of being scared for the next day and wondering if I’m going crazy. I don’t know what I want because whenever I think I know, it always lets me down.
I can’t trust my judgement. I can’t trust the plans I’ve made for my life. And I can’t trust that these problems are going to just vanish.
Now, where’s that damn bottle again?
