10-16-04

I haven’t been feeling well this last week.  Headaches, mostly. 

What to say?  School, people, life…it’s all been very frustrating.  It’s so cold here.

Turns out, wine is really gross.  Disgusting.  But it was in the fridge, and I figured “why not?”  I’m such a rebel.  Not.  I really don’t want to keep drinking it, actually, it’s that bad.  This probably qualifies as some kind of self-abuse.  I should start smoking, too.

Life kind of sucks at the present.  I’m back to needing Tylenol PM to sleep at night.  The anxiety is overwhelming.  And all the while I’m dreading getting into the pattern of this summer, where I popped 3 Tylenol PM at night to sleep and 6 Excedrin in the morning to wake up.  At the same time, I’m itching for something stronger.  I don’t want to be an addict.  I don’t care.

What I need now, I think, is someone to tell me that everything will be okay.  But they can’t.  I miss the years of having my parents holding my hand, helping me, guiding me, fixing my mistakes.  And when my worry is consuming me, I wish they could make it better.  They can’t and I’m alone.  Everything I can’t do…it’s daunting.  I’m tired of being inadequate.  I’m tired of this.  Of them.  Of everything.

I’m tired of being looked up to.  I’m not perfect, dammit.  I am completely fallible.  My morals are a joke, my intelligence is a fraud, my talent is a lie, and I AM A TOTAL FUCK UP.  Christ, people, I’m not always right.  I don’t know everything.  I know nothing.  I wish everyone could see it as clearly as I can.  I can’t be everything.  I can’t be perfect.

Sitting here now I can smell the alcohol on my own breath.  I can taste it in my mouth.  And I am completely disgusted.  I always said I’d never drink.  Ever.  I was too afraid of being my father.  Of becoming dependent.  I’m not afraid anymore.  I know I’ll never be him.  I am me.  And that disgusts me even more.  Where are my morals now?  When I’m not held captive by my fear, where are my morals?  Goddammit, I’ve fucked up again, I KNOW better than this! 

Everything I have, what does it mean?  The talent?  The intelligence?  What good is it when it gives me nothing?  What am I fighting for?  I could give up.  I could.  I know, someday, the day is going to come when I can no longer rationalize my own existence.  What then?  Will I follow my own instincts, or follw the blind assurances of others?  Either way, I am living by the advice of imperfect and pathetic advisors.