It’s been such a weird year for me and I haven’t blogged any of it. Or I’ve attempted to blog but my head’s been so all over the place I’ve got bored half way through and relegated it to my drafts. Writing used to be the only thing I was good and now I can’t master the art of a full sentence.
But most of what’s happened this year I don’t want to attach words to because I’m not sure how I feel about it or how I want or expect other people to feel. I haven’t been myself and I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know if I accept the changes myself and I guess I’m scared of other people’s judgement.
I always feel pathetic after I write like all I’ve done is just document another phase of my failure. Nothing in my life has really been anything to look back on nevermind bookmark online for people to pick apart; including whoever it is I grow into.
At the start of the year I was generally okay, I wasn’t really drinking and I hadn’t started doing anything worse than that. I know I wasn’t happy because I never have been and it’s ridiculous to suggest I was in any way content because I know I wasn’t but I had a better grasp on things.
I feel submerged now and the gasps of air I do take are just as polluted as the water entering my lungs. There’s no letup. There’s no break. There’s just chemicals to dull the pain and to push the clock hands forward into ripping up another day on the calendar.
I’ve realised a lot of things and fallen back into pits I’d thought I’d crawled out of. It’s like without drugs I could run from my problems but when I’m on them I masochistically run straight into them, like I suddenly have the courage to face them; and I do solve a lot of issues but some just remain reopened and too freshly available to run from while sober.
In the last month I’ve had Andy and Shelby and Melanie in my flat and these things wouldn’t have happened without drugs to fuel it. But nothing’s stuck. I’ve lost all my friends at school and so the desire to do well has been sucked from me. I feel subhuman because I don’t know how it happened and as much as I love feeding off other people saying forget those guys you’re better than them there’s a part of me that obviously can’t because it’s not the first set of friends I’ve lost and it certainly won’t be the last. I remember Nomi would cry in my arms about that stuff. Not finding a circle, just faking it until it disappears. And she’s lowered herself to nothing to find a circle that would stick whereas I’m just getting hung up in the twisted nooses I couldn’t control.
I’m a bad person. I’m filled with hate and fear and a part of me likes it. A part of me doesn’t want to let go of it. I don’t know where someone as fucked me as me is supposed to go. I’ve had to accept that I’m not normal. Like maybe I had the potential to be at one stage and maybe I still do and I don’t know if it’s a self fulfilling prophecy or not but it’s like every bump in the road gets magnified because you’ve seen it before. It’s not like a different problem holding you back each time it’s like the same barriers no matter what you try.
So you’re supposed to accept who you are. And I’m sure I could find acceptance but it always seems to be with people I don’t accept. I’m sure there’s a circle of people as fucked up as me who would love to have me in their life but I’d feel gross and cheated within it.
I don’t know what I believe in anymore. I’ve started believing in energy. I believe people have a certain energy that brings them together. I feel like as lazy and unmotivated as I am I have that energy inside me to want to be someone. To want to go and do everything and just live. But I’m so damaged by everything that I can’t do it alone. I need a twin to mirror me and come get in trouble with me and have fun. I want drugs to fuel stories instead of clouding the truth. I want my life to burn words into a book you can only read once.
But I’m trapped in a sewer like keys to the world that nobody wants to take the time to fish out because it’s going to turn anyway and it’ll probably be fine regardless. I want to combust and leave a part of me on every torn calendar page. To look into the past decades from now and define time by the parts of me I left behind.
But I’m nothing by myself.