Authentic Pyrrhic Remission

LOL decided I am going to write something everyday, some fictional, some not, some only sorta fictional.

Can’t seem to remember where I was. I don’t know where I have been. I just can’t remember. I created a jail for those memories and the warden won’t give me the key. My brain is my worst enemy. It’s so secretive and hides so much from me. Drugs and alcohol will be the death of me. I take comfort in them because I can’t handle this reality. My brain plays tricks on me, it does. It rips on my deepest insecurities every second of the day. I try to find fault in others, to feel better about myself. It just makes things worse because then I instantly feel bad. When I am drunk, I drink until I am gone. Its like my “Tyler” emerges. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the movie Fight Club but that’s how I get. It’s a new me, a me I wish I could be while sober. I’m talkative and happy. At least I think I am. But then I drink too much and I become filled with anger. Everything everyone says is wrong. I am right. That is the way my brain thinks. When I am sober I think of how I disappoint myself and everyone who cares for me, however low of a number that may be. I think that I could be skinnier, I could be, should be, prettier. I want to be able to go places without this machine in my head telling me such horrible things. I just want it to stop running, or its battery to go low. I want to be able to go to the store without being so anxious just because I have to ask for a pack of cigarettes. I want to feel normal. Then I remember that I am not even sure of the definition of the word, “normal”. Do I contradict myself a lot? Sometimes I think I do. The weird thing about my Tyler, “Silvia” as people who were once friends of mine called her, seems to almost camouflage to those around her. If there is someone making fun of someone Silvia will jump in the conversation and say some quirky line. Or a stupid line. She thinks everyone is her friends and then she gets sad because they really don’t. Then she gets mad, and I am not really there anymore. Does this make me crazy? I don’t know.

I think its hilarious that with as much as I care about what people think, I do drugs. I drink copious amounts of alcohol and to be honest that’s what people judge me the most for. When people are pissed at me they tend to lead with the line, “You’re a fucking drug addict who is just going to die,” Which makes me literally laugh out loud. I smoke a lot of weed, sometimes trip on acid, and drink. I don’t really think I am going to die anytime soon unless I decide to go for a drive while drunk. Hopefully that doesn’t happen though. Yes, I used to do cough medicine. I did it too much. Its probably what caused all my insecurities. I don’t know though. I feel like it may have made me a wee bit crazy, or really crazy depending on how sane you are. Its like everyday people do things that are way more likely to kill you than drugs. Like driving for instance, that shit is scary. Any mother fucker out there could be talking on their phone or texting and then BAM you’re paralyzed from the neck down and just woke up out of a three month coma. That may be over exaggerating a bit. I just don’t enjoy thinking I am in a huge, steel, death trap driving at high speeds with other huge, steel, death traps. I ramble a lot. With as much anxiety as I seem to have sometimes I can’t stop talking. Do you want to know what’s more awkward than trying converse with someone, that awkward silence that takes place between two people when a mutual friend leaves the room. Neither of you know each other so neither of you know what to say. That person who once sat between us was now gone and shit got real. I hate that moment more than anything so I speak. Sometimes I am glad I did, and others, I feel like I should have let them initiate the conversation because by the time they get two words out I’m halfway to Mars. I am so fucking weird.

2 weeks ago