I have the taste of puke in my mouth and nostrils. SEEEEXXXXXY. Yeah, so I stopped at Walgreen's and got my drug of choice and for some godforsaken reason, Egg Nog. It seemed yummy at the moment. I drank some. Then when I got home I realized how fattening it is and how it doesn't seem to set well on my stomach, so I made myself puke it up. Feel much better now.
My drug of choice (for this year) is DXM. Which is in cough syrup or cough pills. It's a dissociative drug, maybe hallucinogenic. It is the shit if you aren't depressed. Or maybe it makes you depressed. I have become suicidal coming off of it. But yet, I do it again.
"It's not a habit, it's cool, I feel alive. If you don't have it you're on the other side. I'm not an addict, maybe that's a lie."
One more day, then rehab. I'm excited. How fucked up is it that part of the reason I'm excited is the idea of meeting people. New people that I may become friends with. New people that I may want to seduce. I am a fucking goddamn mess.
"Sober now, I'm cold, alone. I'm just a person on my own. Nothing means a thing to me. Nothing means a thing to me. It's not a habit, it's cool, I feel alive... I'm not an addict. Maybe that's a lie."
I really want nothing to mean a thing to me. Why do I always have to care. I care just enough to feel guilty.
I saw my mom for breakfast today, so that I could switch cars and get my truck back. But I did not tell her about rehab. I'm going to tell her on the phone two minutes before I walk in the clinic's doors. I just can't handle her disapproval. I am a wuss. As has been determined earlier.
Maybe if I cut myself tonight I can prove to myself I'm not such a goddamn fucking weakling. But I am. But the cuts may ameliorate the feeling. Being able to draw blood on myself helps.
I drove to his apt complex tonight. So on top of being a weak depressed loser, I am a fucking stalker. Sorry.
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