Saturday, October 31st, 2009 at 2:05am
Tomorrow night I am going to a Halloween party with Sarah and “a bunch of severe alcoholics,” and a tentative end-time of about three in the morning. I’m not sure exactly how many other people will be there, but she will be the only person I know.
What could possibly go wrong?
Goodnight Moon.
Dream On.
Tuesday, October 27th, 2009 at 1:08am
With a little help from Martha Stewart, of all people, I came up with a pretty cool idea for Halloween invitations: To fake my own kidnapping. So I bought 10 little boxes, ten fake fingers, some fake blood and sent off ten severed fingers to ten of my friends. With the finger came a chicken scratch ransom note, and a polaroid of me all hog tied in duct tape, bloodied and bruised.
It went over pretty well. Everyone had some kind of reaction, one way or another. And that’s really all I could as for, I suppose. Todd texted me told me he had just a momentary flash of panic. Carrie told me it was the best invitation she’ll ever see. Tera told me she’s proud of me. I had lots of people comment on the photos when I put them online. All went well.
Except for the part where people said they’d actually come to the party. I really only got one solid yes, and a half dozen “Maybe I’ll swing by”s. Which is fine… I guess. It’s halloween. People have plans. I guess I didn’t get the invitations out soon enough. Or something.
So, with my tail between my legs, I sent out a mass-texting to everyone letting them know I’m canceling the party. I may just end up staying home watching another batch of TV episodes. There was brief talk of maybe Tera still coming over, and us drinking until it doesn’t hurt anymore. I don’t know if that will actually happen.
I would love to not take it personally. But… well, you know me.
Goodnight Moon.
Ha.
Tuesday, October 20th, 2009 at 1:14am
Emily sent me a journal in the mail. A big box of birthday gifts, with all kinds of cute things in it. But this journal is titled Fuck You And Your Blog, and there’s a note inside telling me to write all of my truly private entries in the journal instead of online. It’s a cute thought… but it goes again what I’ve been working towards for the past [ohmygodcanyoubelieveit'salmostbeen] ten years.
The same night I got this journal in the mail, I got drunk on wine and tried to spill my guts. I tried, and even in my loose-lipped, word-vomitous state, I couldn’t seem to get what was in my brain/heart out.
Backspace backspace backspace backspace backspace…. “No, I can’t say that…
So this journal with it’s cute clouds and balloon on the cover is starting to feel more appetizing. But to keep an actual journal? I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right to me. But I bet the moment I truly let what wants to come out escape, I’ll change my mind. We’ll see… I make no promises.
Life goes on, for me. This big ordeal that I seemingly can’t talk about really isn’t all that big. On the surface its girl related, yes. But it goes much deeper than that. My need to talk about it stems from the thought that if maybe you knew just how I felt before/during/after… that maybe-just-maybe you’d cut me some slack, and maybe-just-maybe we could start fresh.
This trend of losing friends faster than I can make new ones continues. But instead of friends just moving away, or growing apart, I seem to actually be pushing them away this time around. It feels worse, of course. It almost stings. Except in once case, in which it was quite honestly a welcomed change. But by and large, this is obviously not a good trend happening in my life.
So, I slink away. I spent my Saturday night, once again, on my couch drinking wine and watching downloaded TV shows. Truth is… I love it. I’m halfway through Firefly right now, and I wanted so much to watch a few more episodes tonight, but I decided to enact some will power and wait until next Saturday when I can binge on seven final episodes and another bottle of wine. I sure as shit won’t have any better plans.
Oh, but Chris… you hung out with Tera on Friday and racked up a $100 tab on drinks. And on Sunday you went to Disneyland with Jasmine and spent the whole day there. Why do you only focus on Saturday when you stayed home?
Well, I don’t really have an answer. It’s so few and far between that I see Tera anymore. I suppose that’s a double edged sword. I may only see her once a month, but it’s usually one hell of a good time when I do. I see Jasmine maybe every other weekend, and we often do a dinner/movie night kind of situation. I’m pretty sure these are the last two friends I’ve got that I see on any regular basis.
And as for you… It’s getting pretty close to the point where we say adieu. I can tolerate your selfishness only so much, and it seems like five years is my limit. C’est la vie.
Bonne Nuit Lune.
Peut-être un jour…
Sunday, October 18th, 2009 at 3:50am
Evidently, I need more wine to finish the post I started.
Goodnight Moon.
It’s always for the better.
Wednesday, October 14th, 2009 at 1:05am
There has been a lot going on lately, and as much as I want to talk all about it and pour my little guts out right here, I don’t think the time is right.
I’ve spent too many nights lately on the verge of tears, and curled up in bed. Wanting to put an end to the night, so I crawl into bed at 10, or earlier. It hasn’t pretty. I put down a bottle and a half of wine Saturday night, all by my lonesome, and it was probably the best night of the weekend. Up until 2am watching House and making grilled cheese sandwiches.
This time around I’ve been mostly pretty transparent with my depression. I usually try my best to keep it under wraps, save for a stray emo tweet or two that manages to escape. But this time, I’ve been pretty up front about it. People’s reactions have been varied, but I tend to be getting a lot of “You’re so wonderful.”
And this may be one of the most fucked up things I’ve ever said, but I’m sick to death of being told I’m wonderful. The root of all of this depression is coming from a place that screams at me “you are not good enough,” and when I come face to face with people telling me I’m wonderful… not only do I just not believe it, but it’s starting to feel cheap. I’m tired of just being told, that I’m a good person, that things will turn around for me, that I deserve better… After so long, they just become words. If I’m really so wonderful, things would be better for me. If I deserved better, things would be better. It’s so easy to say a few pretty words and move on.
I’ve been giving a lot of thought about therapy. But, really… I’ve lost my faith in that. I grew up in that age when everyone was being prescribed some kind of anti-depressant, or other behavioral drug, so maybe I’ve just been tricked into believing it. But I think my answer may actually be drugs. That this depression, while sparked from legitimate events in my life, is hitting me far more extremely than it ought to because of deficiencies in my brain. And I don’t believe any amount of “so how does that make you feel?” will fix anything.
But then my next problem is that I’m just so fucking god dammed lazy, that I’ll never make the effort to make an appointment anywhere, regardless of if I think it’s the right move or not. I also think there’s a bit of a pride element here, too. I wonder if I’m just too fucking proud to get help. I’m fully aware it makes no sense to say that in the middle of a public journal entry where I whine and bitch about crying in bed.
Something needs to change. I don’t know what. So change something. But I can’t. And I don’t know why. I’m lazy, and I’m scared. And I hate change, even when it’s for the better. Even when I know it’s for the better. I can’t… make myself do it. I can barely make myself do things I want to do. A productive night for me anymore is watching a Netflix movie. I get a sense of accomplishment from that?
And then words like failure and pathetic swarm in my brain. And this goes on and on. And on. And then I run to bed because it’s the only way I can shut off my brain.
Something’s gotta give.
Goodnight Moon.
Sunday, October 11th, 2009 at 2:48am
One of these days…
We’ll sit down and tell each other the true story of what really happened. In the mean time, it will be our little secret.
Goodnight Moon.
Maybe Someday.
