Drying Out

Five days dry.

It seems like I’ve spent a lifetime trying to run from things. Maybe that’s because I have. Whenever I found a better or a different way to escape, I would. But I’m tired of trying to run and escape from things. I don’t want to face reality either though.

I really can’t say why I’ve quit drinking (although yes, I’m aware that five days dry doesn’t mean I’ve “quit,” time will tell if I really have or not). I didn’t really plan on getting hammered on Tuesday night, but my mom pissed me off so I began chugging vodka and…I woke up severely hung over. When I woke up I made a promise that I’d made, and broken, many times before. I said, “That’s it, I’m not drinking anymore.”

The weird part about it this time was that I really meant it. I’m sick of it. Or bored of it. Or something.

The first three days weren’t really all that hard at all. Yesterday and today though, things changed. Being home with the parents all weekend has had me asking, “Why the hell did I decide to quit?”

My parents aren’t good for me. It’s much too long of a story to explain, but I’ve decided that until I move out (it better be this summer) I’m going to try and stay in my bedroom as much as possible. Away from the two people in the world who have the ability to take a fairly decent day and make me want to do something self-destructive.

My mom had her shot yesterday, and my dad had his today. I went for a drive today after my dad gave his little spiel about shit and all I wanted was something to do to get away. I wanted to drink, but I said I’m quitting and I am. I thought, “Well, I could cut myself.” But like I said, I’m so fucking tired of trying to escape.

I’m so fucking tired of needing escapes.

It really is amazing how easy it is for them to take me and shove me into a tailspin. I think most of it is just because of years and years of things that have built up, and so even the slightest thing takes on the weight of years and feels like a millstone around my neck.

I really do wish things between us were cool. I wish we could be friends. I wish we had common interests or could do things together that we all honestly enjoyed. But that isn’t the case, my parents and I are completely opposite.

As I was driving tonight I was thinking back to where I was a year ago. One year ago I was depressed and all, as I still am, but I was actually on the verge of getting out. My major bills were nearly paid off, I was looking for a house to buy, and had already been prequalified for a loan.

Enter May 4th, 2003.

Music has always been one of the most important parts of my life (see previous entry for a teensy glimpse into that). On May 4th last year someone busted into my car and stole my stereo (I had a very decent one) and most of my CD’s. The police were pretty useless in trying to find who did it, and so in a reflex of trying to ease the pain of losing all that, I blew a ton of money to get an even better stereo reinstalled as well as buying back a bunch of my CD’s
Pause
Ok, I’m really fucking pissed now. I just got a two and a half hour lecture about God and shit from my parents. Fuck this, fuck “God”, fuck them. I’m saving my money and fuck the bills, I’m moving out as soon as possible.

Geez, talk about wanting an escape…They think they will be able to understand or comprehend if I tell them…

Fuck this shit. Being alone may suck, but I’ll deal with it. If I hadn’t dumped all my liquor down the toilet today, I’d probably be getting hammered really fast right now…