(no subject)
Less than a day to the new year. I'll be sleeping, probably. No one special to enjoy some crazy party with. No one to kiss when the clock strikes midnight. Or maybe I'll just be sitting right here, watching TV with the only girl who loves me, my precious kitty. Which reminds me. The day I will die will be that of my cat. She's probably got about a decade, so so do I.
Walking has become more difficult. My current meds aren't managing my pain. I'm having to use my cane just to get around the apartment. I smoked so much stuff this last week, I've built up a tolerance to it, so it's not as effective as it used to be.
I still hate the world, but I, for some reason, can't keep myself from continuing to write in this journal. Or continually updating my MySpace profile (www.myspace.com/caligeekgrrl).
My bed is surrounded by empty soda and diet shake cans, empty cigarette boxes... My bed is covered with used kleenex from all the crying I was doing this last week. I finally cleaned out the litter box today. Haven't bathed in over a week. My fingernails stab me in my sleep, and my toe nails are making holes in my socks. My hair is oily and littered with dandruff. My skin is peeling off my face. And even the inside of my hands are dry and rough. There is blood on my clothes from digging at ingrown hairs with a safety pin. I smell all sorts of funky. I've smoked so much in here that I've got a chronic mucus issue going on. I've gotten a migraine almost every day this week. Haven't eaten in a week. Well, I had a couple of lollipops. I have filled two 16oz disposable cups with cigarette butts, and half filled a 20oz cup.
I haven't cried since I woke up last, but I came close a couple times. My top 3 computers were all being cunt rags, so I wiped out and reinstalled on 2 of them. In the process, I had to back up some files. That's when I found a bunch of pictures of the last girl who will ever break my heart. Each one made me feel cold all over, gave me a pain in my chest and an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Oh, memories.
I feel... angry. Betrayed. Rejected. Unloved. Like an outcast. Unworthy. Hopeless. Helpless. I want to be dead now, but I just can't leave Isis. So I wait for her before I go. So I'm feeling impatient. But this time will be good. I can make sure to have everything in order before I go. So my parents will have as little of my stuff to deal with as possible. Just my memories, keepsakes, etc.
So I'm giving up on caring, on being compassionate. All it's ever done is gotten me hurt. Most people don't give a shit about anyone but themselves. I'm joining them. Need a ride, need some money, need a shoulder... go bug someone else. I am emotionally unavailable. The only love I know is from my cat. And if anyone kills her, I'll kill them and then myself.
My goal... the next time you see me walking down the street, you won't know who I am. And in a decade, you won't remember who I am.
Walking has become more difficult. My current meds aren't managing my pain. I'm having to use my cane just to get around the apartment. I smoked so much stuff this last week, I've built up a tolerance to it, so it's not as effective as it used to be.
I still hate the world, but I, for some reason, can't keep myself from continuing to write in this journal. Or continually updating my MySpace profile (www.myspace.com/caligeekgrrl).
My bed is surrounded by empty soda and diet shake cans, empty cigarette boxes... My bed is covered with used kleenex from all the crying I was doing this last week. I finally cleaned out the litter box today. Haven't bathed in over a week. My fingernails stab me in my sleep, and my toe nails are making holes in my socks. My hair is oily and littered with dandruff. My skin is peeling off my face. And even the inside of my hands are dry and rough. There is blood on my clothes from digging at ingrown hairs with a safety pin. I smell all sorts of funky. I've smoked so much in here that I've got a chronic mucus issue going on. I've gotten a migraine almost every day this week. Haven't eaten in a week. Well, I had a couple of lollipops. I have filled two 16oz disposable cups with cigarette butts, and half filled a 20oz cup.
I haven't cried since I woke up last, but I came close a couple times. My top 3 computers were all being cunt rags, so I wiped out and reinstalled on 2 of them. In the process, I had to back up some files. That's when I found a bunch of pictures of the last girl who will ever break my heart. Each one made me feel cold all over, gave me a pain in my chest and an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Oh, memories.
I feel... angry. Betrayed. Rejected. Unloved. Like an outcast. Unworthy. Hopeless. Helpless. I want to be dead now, but I just can't leave Isis. So I wait for her before I go. So I'm feeling impatient. But this time will be good. I can make sure to have everything in order before I go. So my parents will have as little of my stuff to deal with as possible. Just my memories, keepsakes, etc.
So I'm giving up on caring, on being compassionate. All it's ever done is gotten me hurt. Most people don't give a shit about anyone but themselves. I'm joining them. Need a ride, need some money, need a shoulder... go bug someone else. I am emotionally unavailable. The only love I know is from my cat. And if anyone kills her, I'll kill them and then myself.
My goal... the next time you see me walking down the street, you won't know who I am. And in a decade, you won't remember who I am.