Private Journal entry.
I threw up in bed this afternoon, which is something I haven't done in -- well, years. Not even when I was drinking. I should just burn the sheets but the Landlord frowns at indoor fires. Instead I just threw them in the bathtub and turned on the water. I sat there, poking at the sheets that now turned darker because they were soaked with water and thought about life in general.
I feel empty sometimes, as if there is this great big hole in my life - this vacuum, devoid of light, feeling, even warmth. E = MC(2). In a vacuum. If I believed that actually worked I might try to experiment with time travel. The question would be then, where would you travel to?
Wow, I digress. But it doesn't even matter, I can't connect two thoughts together and I can't have a day without a headache.
The truth of the matter is that when I saw the Neurosurgeon he said that I just might one of those people who have chronic headaches. This procedure isn't the cure all I thought it was going to be. I find this unsatisfactory. I already can't get through without taking pain killers, what happens when I need more? I could give a fuck about my eyes, the left one is pretty useless anyway.
Here's the truth, down, dirty, all cards on the table. The reason I'm not scared of dying on the operating table is because it will save me the effort in doing it myself. Because hoped up on Tramadol all alone at night, the only thing I am capable of doing is breathing and crying. At points like that I think about how easy it would be just to O.D. Worse is when Danny comes over and doesn't lock up his sidearm.
Except I feel too fucking guilty for even thinking then to even do it. See, he wasn't part of the plan, my plan was to stay locked in my apartment, alone, and when it got to be too much - I figured no one would give two shits if I died or not.
I don't understand why people even care about my well being. Then again, I am making an assumption that they do - which is generally a bad thing.
I'm scared. Not of dying, but of being alone. Which is funny since I've been alone this whole time.
I am tired, I can't hold it together any more and I end up taking it out on people who don't deserve it. This makes me a horrible human being.
I feel empty sometimes, as if there is this great big hole in my life - this vacuum, devoid of light, feeling, even warmth. E = MC(2). In a vacuum. If I believed that actually worked I might try to experiment with time travel. The question would be then, where would you travel to?
Wow, I digress. But it doesn't even matter, I can't connect two thoughts together and I can't have a day without a headache.
The truth of the matter is that when I saw the Neurosurgeon he said that I just might one of those people who have chronic headaches. This procedure isn't the cure all I thought it was going to be. I find this unsatisfactory. I already can't get through without taking pain killers, what happens when I need more? I could give a fuck about my eyes, the left one is pretty useless anyway.
Here's the truth, down, dirty, all cards on the table. The reason I'm not scared of dying on the operating table is because it will save me the effort in doing it myself. Because hoped up on Tramadol all alone at night, the only thing I am capable of doing is breathing and crying. At points like that I think about how easy it would be just to O.D. Worse is when Danny comes over and doesn't lock up his sidearm.
Except I feel too fucking guilty for even thinking then to even do it. See, he wasn't part of the plan, my plan was to stay locked in my apartment, alone, and when it got to be too much - I figured no one would give two shits if I died or not.
I don't understand why people even care about my well being. Then again, I am making an assumption that they do - which is generally a bad thing.
I'm scared. Not of dying, but of being alone. Which is funny since I've been alone this whole time.
I am tired, I can't hold it together any more and I end up taking it out on people who don't deserve it. This makes me a horrible human being.