My sleep schedule is so fucked.
I don't even know anymore.
Taking nyquil just makes me sleep all day.
Meh.
Oh hey.
I have plans on Wednesday. That I have to be awake at noon for.
Not missing it again.
Have to go see the GSA.
Miss those guys.
And it will be Emily's birthday on Thursday.
Woo!
Rory asked me out for Valentine's Day.
I don't even know the kid.
That is way too much pressure for a first date.
So, no thanks.
But his name is Rory.
Come on.
Meh.
Not the same.
Not the same.
Now I'm just waiting for the apartment to be empty so I can find something to eat.
And shower. Then I will go to Lucky Dog.
Maybe cut my hair today, finally.
Dye it.
The works.
I'd be okay with dieing.
Not to the point of suicide,
But I would be okay with it.
[Not that you ever could, anyway. Pussy.]
Not helping.
But you're right.
If I were to be hit by a bus, or take too many pills, or go into a sudden coma.
I could accept it.
It wouldn't be the worst thing.
Let it happen.
Y' know?
Not that I'm going to go out and try.
Nothing to worry about.
Seriously.
I wish there was some deep way I could put my thoughts down.
Metaphors and similes rather than just out right saying I'm okay with dieing.
I used to want to because of my sisters, the way life was, the shit I was put through.
They always seemed to be better than me. More talented, prettier.
They were allowed to cry.
I was just a fucking kid.
I thought I couldn't do it anymore.
Now.
Now, I don't compare myself to them.
I don't want to be like them.
I am me.
This person seems to be worse than who they wanted me to be.
I'm not such a fan of me, but that's not the point.
Hating myself and dieing are two separate issues, if that makes sense.
[It doesn't.]
It does to me.
Well.
This got sad fast.
Let's not talk about it.
K?
Picture time.
Should draw more.
I drew this one for Brian, even before our first date.
Something about a Roman bear.
He wanted me to draw it. So I did.
I ripped it out, so I could give it to him.
It's tapped in my notebook now.
[It still kind of hurts.]
I know.
I know.
It may be lack of sleep, or everything in the past few months slamming into me all at once, but this fucking song.
Fuck.
[Let's curse some more. Makes you seem classy as shit.]
It has been my favorite for so many years now.
It's always stirred something inside, just a bit.
But today.
Right now.
Shit.
It started slow.
It came on shuffle.
Hell yeah, I'll listen to this. Nice job shuffle. High five.
[Loser.]
As it goes, I feel.
I fucking feel everything and nothing, all at the same goddamn time.
And it's awesome.
It's so fucking awesome.
The song ends.
Put it on repeat.
Keep fucking feeling.
For once in your goddamn pathetic life, fucking feel.
Tear down that fucking wall you put up.
No need for it.
You fucking pussy.
I go along.
Lyrics quietly to myself.
At least you're feeling.
Song ends.
Play it again.
The longer the song goes, the louder I fucking get.
All of it, just all of it.
Song ends.
Don't stop.
Just one more time.
I'm fucking belting it now.
I can feel every fiber of my being.
Brain, pushing all the shit further out of reach.
You don't need to think of it anymore.
You're a big boy now, take responsibility.
My stomach, sore from coughing for days.
It doesn't care.
You're a wet cigarette.
Lips cracked, no need for water now.
There is more than meets the eye.
I'm fucking crying.
And for once, it feels good.
Throat, begging, just to stop.
But I'm not going to.
It feels so fucking good.
Your battle's been won.
You sit back and smile, this is what you hum, you hum.
The fuck has happened to my sleep schedule.
It used to be I could fall asleep around nine and wake up at seven.
Like a fucking normal person.
That is so overrated.
Now I'm up all night, fall asleep whenever, wake up whenever.
It's 11 in the morning, and I still haven't slept.
Yesterday I fell asleep around nine in the morning. Woke up around six, took some dayquil, fell back asleep two hours later, woke up around 10 and was up all night.
[Not complaining.]
Sleeping all day makes it feel wasted.
To counter balance, maybe I should find a night job. Or an online job.
Something to give this dull existence meaning.
Fuck I'm a loser.
Something I realized:
Whenever I meet new people- online or otherwise
[Come on. We all know it's online.] Shut up. I'm trying to make a point.-
Once they ask "So what do you like to do?" or "What are your hobbies?"
I pretty much know the conversation will either go no where or be forced and awkward.
Who the fuck am I.
Deadpool thing I tried up there. Get it? No? Moving on.
Here is how nights seem to go for the past few days. Nights. Whatever:
It's three in the afternoon. Suddenly, I am awake.
Or any where before three. I'm not picky.
Look at phone. Everyone seems to need me before noon.
I let them all down, not caring like the bad ass mother fucker that I am.
I text like, two, maybe three of these people back.
I'm so fucking popular.
Cough out a lung.
Hate plague.
Die.
Foreplay skype with Dillon.
Watch an episode or two of Walking Dead.
Really just killing time until the sun sets.
That's when the fun starts.
Play a game or two of LoL while making fun of fatty.
Die countless times.
Ensure that we lose.
Really, I give him many more reasons to make fun of me than he does.
Because you're fat.
That's right. You.
You're a fatty.
Good thing I'm into that.
Four hour Skype call.
Feel way too fucking sappy.
Insult Dillon again.
Y' know.
For good measure.
Complain about my hair.
And everything else.
Hang up.
Text.
Watch more Walking Dead.
Sleep.
Or not.
More often, not.
At least not until what most people would consider 'Mid-morning.'
Fuck you, most people.
Sleep.
Lately, I've been going to sleep when I feel like it.
Not saying 'oh damn. It's nine in the morning. Maybe I should sleep.'
Fuck that.
Once it hurts to keep my eyes open, that's when I sleep.
And I sleep pretty soundly, and not for very long.
It's nice. I can run all day on three solid hours.
Then again, that's three hours for being sick in bed.
Yay.
I'm loving being single right meow.
Although I could listen to that damn voice all night.
I do miss being allowed to be openly cheesy about everything, though.
Fuck feelings. Whatever happens, eh? In general. About everything.
Kind of weird. For once, I'm not just, diving head first into anything.
Just kind of, letting it be. Let it do it's own thing.
Not thinking too much about anything.
Not over analyzing every little thing.
Much more... relaxing.
It's so nice.
Then again, it could just be lack of emotional need.
I do miss the closeness.
Falling asleep next to someone, waking up to kisses.
Ah man. Kissing.
Holding hands.
Like for once I feel like a human. A whole human.
Not needing anyone to fill some kind of vacancy.
Emotionally full?
The fuck am I talking about.
Well. Here we are.
Enough time has passed that I do not feel bad about moving on. But I still kind of do.
Meh.
I still have to fucking call him.
How could you do this to someone.
Not so much the breaking up with, but all the other stuff.
How can you turn around so fast. What did I do.
ANYWAY.
I got a dick pic tonight.
;3
I have the plague. Hardcore.
I got Emily a flask for her birthday. Hurray. And a mug.
I made you a fucking mug.
Happy fucking birthday.
Now I can fucking swear at you and shit.
Fucking 18.
But not yet.
Meow meow meow.
I've lost a bit of weight lately.
My collarbones look pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.
Maybe I'll start putting up pictures of shit I draw. Will do.
I've been watching a butt ton of Walking Dead lately.
I am hooked.
I wish I had something interesting to say.
Life is dull.
Remember when I tried to draw the Hulk, but it just looked like Justin Bieber?
BIEBER SMASH.
This notebook has little pictures of musicians on each page.
Cute.
To whoever gooogled this, Hi.
Everything sucks right now.
Brian dumped me hardcore.
Like a sack of potatoes.
Like last years shoes.
It was really out of the blue, too. Not like 'we have a problem, let's try to fix it.'
Just, 'hey, I don't love you anymore. Sucks, doesn't it.'
Yeah. It does.
So I get to be a whiny bitch about it, for however long I want.
It happened last Tuesday, for the record.
The day after I made the 'Obi Wan' mug.
So, I have an Obi Wan mug. It mocks me.
I'm not as sad as I'm letting on.
Not as sad as I was.
I cried the entire first day.
I was in such shock.
The second day was easier. Mildly.
I've been progressively crying less and less.
Like backwards cry contractions.
It's like a constantly level of adequate sadness,
then insane highs of sadness.
Then back down again.
Again and again and again.
j
James and Pete have really been helping me.
And I can't thank them enough.
I want to document how sad I am right now.
So I can remember.
And whatnot.
I know we weren't together for all that long,
but he promised me so much.
The first (and only) time he ever even vaugely mentioned that he was worried about my age,
Well, that was the first time he ever told me he loved me.
So, forgive me for thinking that you were okay with it.
Then not long after, he told me he wanted me to move in with him.
"After the holidays."
Then he said he wanted to put it off "just a month or two."
So I didn't bother to get another job for "just a month or two."
I had even been looking at jobs down in Gardner. Oh well.
Today, I met a girl who moved to the next town over from Gardner.
And a guy who works with Brian.
All by coincidence.
All by sucky coincidence.
I am sad.
After the whole fiasco with Ryan, at least I had some kind of happiness for a few months.
I'm not trying to make him feel bad or anything,
I don't hate him.
I just wish he knew how bad it hurts.
Plus, he isn't just going to go away forever.
He still has my favorite pants, watchmen, a bunch of books, probably a few socks.
I am sad.
Don't you dare think of me as a bitch. Ever. You have no right. Compared to what you did to me, I'm a fucking angel. You have no right to do this shit to anyone, for any reason. What reason did you have? I'm a bit younger than you. At least I respected you. I never lied to you. I always told you when there was something wrong. You didn't have the balls to tell me you didn't love me anymore. And that is the lowest of the low. When your friends ask what happened, you better not lie to them either. Tell them the truth. Tell them that you - a supposedly super old super awesome guy who is better than everyone who is a bit younger than you- broke this 18-year old little girls heart because he was too chicken shit to tell her the truth before it was too late, keeping the lies going until the very end. In actuallity, this "young" girl has more guts than you ever will. Tell them you were an ass to her.
Plus, breaking up over text? Who is the teenage girl here?
Never forget how you felt tonight.
