Being alive.

This year has been the most bizarre year of my life. Really. It was my first post-college year. I now have my degree. I've made the decision to use the English half instead of the secondary education half. I spent most of this year drunk. I'm not going to lie. It's the only way I made it through, in some ways. I learned a lot about life.

This year has been sad. A sad year of self-discovery. I've puked up half of my life, rolled on the floor, cried in bars, and wrote hundreds upon hundreds of poems. I've made too many regrets sexually. I married the night. Drove around the streets alone in the dark, leaving nothing on the streets to explore.

I feel like one day I'll look back on this year, very confused. Wondering why I put myself through the things that I put myself through. Wondering why I allowed my parents to affect me the way that they did.

Since it's the end of the year, I decided to just.. ramble. Ramble about what I remember about this year. Because maybe one day I'll understand it all. It doesn't make sense to me now.

I remember being lost in January. I remember crying on the floor with a burn mark on my hand, puking down my best friends arm and staring up at the ceiling. That's when it all began. I remember being one of the boys. Driving all four of them around in my car with a bad hangover and eyeliner running down my cheeks. I remember my 23rd birthday, going to the strip club and a stripper removing my shirt in the back room, telling me to take up stripping. I remember considering it. I remember sitting out back with my friends around the hookah, dancing topless in the rain in the back yard. I remember nighttime walks through the forest and coming home at 4 in the morning when I had to be at work at 6. I remember going to the frog pond by myself to cry. I remember telling my sister that I drink enough to black out 4 or 5 nights a week and her screaming at my through the phone, begging me to stop. I remember sitting outside the closed coffee house because it felt like the only home I had. I had nothing anymore but dead memories that could never be relived. I remember laying on the basement floor with my best friend, so drunk that I couldn't move. That happened a lot, being so drunk on the floor that I couldn't move. Once I had to call off of work because I was so drunk that I couldn't get my pants on in the morning. I remember my mother telling me things that hurt me so bad that my roommates would find me drunk by myself in the afternoon, crying in my dark bedroom. I remember being in the shower with my roommate outside the door screaming that I was a useless cunt that will never make it anywhere in life. I stood under the steaming water with a crazy smile on my face, about to pass out. I remember not talking to my mom for weeks, making her cry. I remember my friend buying me a bag filled with chocolate to make me feel better and to try to convince me to stop drinking. I remember being on unemployment and using all of my unemployment money on alcohol. I remember being kicked out of the house and finding my own place. I remember hibernating for days upon days in my apartment, not doing anything but working on my writing. I remember painting. I remember show upon show in the city, dancing and drinking my heart out until I couldn't stand straight. I remember my friend losing his mind.. becoming someone who he isn't. Someone who needs help but won't get it. Someone who will.. probably face tragedy again, because I guess his brother being murdered wasn't tragic enough. I remember looking at my mother that day that my parents came to my apartment for a whole 10 minutes and thinking to myself...

She will never be the same. That head injury.. it ruined her. And that hurts me so incredibly much. She will never be the person that I need her to be. It's all over.

I remember being very confused. Not understanding my place in the world. Not understanding anything really.

But the weird part is.. through all of this. I feel happy. And I feel like.. I've been happy through most of this year. It sounds crazy, with all of the crying and moping and hiding and drinking.. that I was actually happy through all of it.

But I was. And I am.

I feel like.. I'm where I'm supposed to be. I'm learning. It's rough. Every day is hard. I'm alone. I hardly have family anymore. Most of my friends have abandoned me. It's just me, myself, and my writing in my dark little apartment. And I'm okay with that. I'm learning. It's a sad year of self-discovery, but at least I'm making my way through it with a smile on my face. And I'm alive. Shouldn't that be enough?

come monday morning

To be alive is one thing. To be alive and happy at the same time, now that's something completely different. That's something that.. comes and goes.

I'm alive, yes. Happy, most of the time. It's days like today where I feel like I'm looking over a cliff, about ready to jump but luckily there's always a person or two down there screaming "Oh no, you better fucking not!"

Today someone asked me if I wanted anything from the bagel shop. I asked her to pick me up a knife so I could slit my wrists.

Where do I begin?

I don't even know. Does it even really matter? Does anything really even matter?

I was very excited for today. I was going to go out tonight with Andrew, Alex, Nick, and Keely in my hometown and then go visit my family. For once, for FUCKING ONCE I wasn't dreading what was in store for me at my parent's house. The last time I was there, things went rather well.

To make a long story short, I was all ready to go. I had my presents ready, my bags packed (I was going to sleep on my friend's couch), I was all dressed up and I even put on makeup (hardly do that anymore).

And then I called my mother on the way out. Told her I had a rough day and I needed her. She said that she didn't feel like spending time with me today. And then my father called. He yelled at me. About what, I don't even fucking remember because we both just went off the deep end and the reason of the fight kind of just fell off into the abyss with us.

Next thing you know I'm laying in my bed in my dark bedroom in my clothes with eyeliner running down my cheeks and no intention of leaving my fucking bedroom for the entirety of the Christmas weekend. Or, the rest of eternity rather.

Please, someone shoot me in the head.

I don't get it. I'm all that my parents have. Me not being there isn't only hurting me, but it's also hurting them. This madness has got to fucking stop. When will it fucking end?

Tomorrow I will probably go to my hometown. I'll go to my grandmother's house for her sake. And I'll leave unhappy like 99.9% of the times that I travel up there.

I kind of just want to die. For real. I have every fucking intention of drinking until I puke up my entire life tonight. And maybe I'll luck out and never wake up tomorrow morning.

You know, my parents are the only reason I have to live. Really. Yes, as I said I am very happy. But when things like this happen with my parents, I am reminded that I have nothing keeping me here. The only reason for me to go on from day to day is because my parents would be lost without me.

If I were to die, my parents would die. They have nothing.

I just want to jump off of a cliff. Ugh. Maybe the alcohol will cheer me up.

I'm sure everything will be fine and dandy come Monday morning. I'll visit my parents tomorrow, I'll leave unhappy, I'll mope Sunday, and Monday morning I'll eat a lot of chocolate and start over again. Again.

Therapy

I don't like to write about my sex life because there are only two reasons why someone exposes their sex life, and it's usually the first reason. The first reason is because they are bragging. The second reason is because they need friend therapy.

I need friend therapy.

I know a stunningly beautiful girl. Absolutely stunning. All of my guy friends take one look at her and say "Wow, she's hot." All of my girl friends tell me she's beautiful. And she is.

She has a boyfriend that she's been with for a solid four years. They live together. They want to get married. He's an amazing guy.

Last night I took her and another girl out for drinks because it was their birthdays. I stayed mature and took it easy with the drinking because I had to drive one of them home, and because I needed to make sure everything was all good in the hood with them.

The one that I went home with was the beautiful girl I mentioned above. Next thing I know, we are completely drunk on her floor and her boyfriend leaves for the weekend.

I had sex with her on their bed.

I woke up at 5 am (she was still sleeping) so disgusted with myself. I was so hungover and still slightly drunk. I remember thinking to myself "I feel so sick. I can't move. I need to stay here until the morning."

But then I got sad and thought to myself, "No, I need to leave right now. I'm a horrible person and I don't deserve to be here." So I left.

Nearly puked on the way home, had to stop for food and water. Called Keith for therapy at 5 in the morning. Determined that if my calculations are wrong and there actually is a hell, I completely reserved a spot for myself there last night.

I've done things sexually that I regret. Quite a few things. But this was just awful. Ugh, I feel like a home wrecker. Never again.

A good girl

Oh my god. I was a total hot mess last night. For real. Like, it was bad. I'm literally sitting here twitching while I'm having flashbacks of last night.

I'm pretty sure I left all of my dignity in the gayborhood last night.

Last night started off pretty mellow. I went to go see my friend's band open for Owen at North Star. It's an okay bar. Nothing like the awesome hipster bars in Fishtown. I started off my night with an Arrogant Bastard and the next thing you know, I'm stumbling back to Keely's car and we are heading to the gayborhood.

Yes, Keely and I convinced Keith to go to a lesbian bar with us.

As soon as we got into the bar, a cute little gay couple started grinding on the dance floor right next to Keith. I was so amused. He was uncomfortable at first but then after about 15 minutes he settled in fine. I kind of figured it would take him a little bit to get comfortable, because watching men waltz around in sequins and eyeliner can be quite intimidating to a straight man.

Most gay men aren't like that, I know. I figured I should make a disclaimer to avoid stereotyping. But yeah, the few that are like that definitely intimidated Keith.

Anyway, after a jello shot and some whiskey on the rocks, he was on the dance floor sandwiched between three lesbians grinding up against him. I almost died. Too funny.

But yeah, I'm so embarrassed by my actions last night. I don't even want to get into it. But I guess we're all allowed to have those days now and then. For the most part, I've been a good girl the last 10 or 15 times we went out.