The Alcohol-Free Shit Show

Tonight was to be titled “Shit Show” for the shenanigans about to and currently taking place at my friends’ apartment. While I did partake in the celebrations, I came out less than tipsy, even after 4 cups of a mix drink and several rounds of a game called boom where you chug beer.

I’m not sure if I’m alright with this or upset.

Part of me is totally okay with this. I’m functioning pretty well right now, I won’t be hungover in the morning (and if I am, I demand a fucking refund), and I have a busy day tomorrow that I want to be able to do stuff for.

I’m upset because I wanted to forget myself for a night.

Not only was I abruptly reminded of who I see myself as, my friends proceeded to remind me as well.

I shouldn’t take this out on them for they were all pretty drunk and my current mental state leaves me more than vulnerable to take things to another level, but my mind can’t get over it. It won’t.

So here I am. 

I am proud of myself for at least one reason today though.

I began my ritual and then stopped myself.

I was about to, but I didn’t.

I know I’m undergoing withdraw symptoms from Zoloft. I know it. 

My life is too chaotic right now. My room is a very accurate representation of my life.

My laundry needs to be done. I have one of the blinds from the living room under my bed. I have hats and scarves from this week on the floor as well as pillows and wrappers.

I’m so neurotic.

I can’t be a fucking doctor.

I wouldn’t want my doctor to be like I am.

I’m so screwed up.

My roommate has this new guy. He’s tall, cute, and really good for her. I’m happy for her. He brought over some friends tonight. One of them was also very cute. 

I just can’t talk any more about this.

I don’t want to even think about trying anymore. I’m this messed up, washed up, piece of left-over shit. I can’t look at myself in the mirror without seeing my disgusting self for who I really am.

No one can love this, my scars, my mind, my worthless talents (how very nonexistent they are.)

I’m just so tired.

I’m just so tired of everything.

I need something fresh.

The Newman Center is becoming that more and more for me.

But how long will it be before I get tired of that? I’m not even sure where my faith stands. A large part of me declares and proclaims my “faith” to reassure my status among my friends and peers at the center, yet another laughs in their face for being so “naive” in my eyes.

I’m the naive one.

I’m the one being played by everyone around me.

I’m the alcohol-free shit show.

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