I'm pretty sure I really hate this entry - 08.20.03 - 1:02 am
Look!

I had a nervous breakdown, the kind where you can't breathe and you're crying and everything bad seems to be rushing into your head at once and the room spins and your heart is beating so hard, it actually hurts, yeah, that kind, and not three minutes after I left the bathroom, a Trekkie hit on me.

Actually, I would be having a repeat performance right now in the (relative, of course) safety of my bedroom, had it not been for Monkey and learning tonight that he's the kind of cat who drools when completely and totally blissed out. I wrote on my fridge in big letters "I (BIG HEART) MONKEY. HE DROOLS. MONKEY IS OUR CAT NOW."

So, yeah, I went outside to see if I could find any particularly life-redeeming stars and ended up with a orange cat sitting in my lap as I held a not entirely one-sided conversation with him. Then I came in and made my puppy smell my pants while I said, "Monkey, good kitty" over and over again, in the hopes that she'll stop growling whenever he comes to the door. She licked me. Baby steps.

I'm avoiding the real issues right now, aren't I?

Sometimes I wonder if I actually wanted to kill myself, would things be easier knowing that I could end it with just one mortal click? Of course, that's morbid and stupid and I'm a horrible person for even thinking about things like that, but sometimes the fuel to the problem is knowing I'll have god knows how long before peace. Peace equals death. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?

People talk about only seeing one way out and not finding any other resolution besides that which lies six feet down. How fucked do you have to be to not realize there are infinite solutions to most everything and all it takes is a little clarity? It's not simple, but it's certainly nothing beyond basic human nature.

I think it's the "most everything" and "clarity" which makes me fucked. I don't know. Every time I try to fix things, I can almost feel certain parts of my brain shutting down. Maybe it would be easier if I actually knew what in the hell is wrong with me, but for the most part, I'd rather sleep instead of think about my life.

OK, I have a feeling I'm going to regret this entry in the morning. For the record, I AM NOT SUICIDAL. Fuck that shit. Fuck it a lot. I am no worse than I was one day, month, year, whatever ago...I'm just talking about it for once. I have done no damage to my body today and will do no damage to my body between now and going to bed. I probably won't do anything tomorrow, either. Why? Cuz it's been just over a month since the last time, I think. Go, me. I'm not going to fuck that up. And blah blah blah.

I really am OK. Just tired. And angry. And not drunk, which is a shame, really. I bet this entry would have been shitloads funnier had I sucked on a gin bottle for a while. Even funnier if said bottle actually had gin in it. Get it? Ha ha. Laugh, you jerks.

I think it's time for a cigarette and more daydreaming. Daydreaming is better than alcohol and I dare you to prove me wrong.

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