Weekend Update: Helping Myself…To More Drugs
So I followed my speech coach’s advice and went to the meet. I picked out my piece the night before and wrote my intro during my last class. I knew I wouldn’t do spectacular, but I tried. So, how’d it go? SHITTY. I got the lowest scores I’ve ever received. Big shock, right? Well, it actually was to me. I thought I did decent…but looks like my version of “decent” translates to “shit” for the rest of the world. Oh well, move on….
How’s Landon? Well, imagine someone saying “rain check!” to a relationship. We are both so busy we barely get a chance to say a single sentence to another, let alone get to know each other. I’m a little disappointed by that because I miss that feeling I had only begun to discover… damn, I don’t want something this good to slip through my fingers.
Well, how about your friends? Yeah, them. I’ve been trying my best to keep them happy, to be there for them. I’ve just also been careful to not let them help me, putting this fake attitude of positivity. But hey, they are happy. And I had a good time last night catching up with one of them I haven’t been able to keep close for some time. Talking to her, I wanted to be better than my actions. Of ‘course, though, when I woke up this morning I wanted to go right back to those same decisions that made me guilty. I can’t just let go of this shitty feeling, as much as I’d like to. Maybe that’s not very mature of me, but when I look at the pills and the group therapy, the meetings with my psychiatrist, the therapy sessions, I feel as if I’ve grown up too fast. Guess I’ll just keep pretending.
My family is the same. I rarely see them except for my mom. It makes it easier for me to deal with this stuff on my own. My self-esteem is in the shitter, no need for anyone else to bare the burden of my struggles.(What a perfect time to try it out with Landon, right?)
I’m going to Brendan’s party tonight. I’ve been excited about this, but now I’m stressed. Writing about all of this, it makes it more real. This pit is getting harder and harder to climb out of.
So I guess I’ve fucked up on trying to make this sound a bit hopeful, like I’m making progress. Desperation is written all over this. The really desperate part is how much I’ve talked about hiding that I feel this way, and yet I’m documenting it all over a public blog. In a sad way, this blog is the only drug that seems to work.