Alcohol doesn't really do it for me anymore and I guess I've been looking for other things.
I can drink a beer or two, or have some vodka, but the  buzz isn't euphoric. I still don't give a damn about people, I'm still full of the feeling that I'd rather be alone.
Last night I went out at 1am to a party thrown by "friends" I know from an apartment complex we all lived in.
I didn't leave the kitchen. Got a beer, and peered out into the different rooms hoping that no one noticed me.
After that, it was to the Southside to a party on the Slopes. I am over the party scene – definetly – but like a zombie, I go back over the motions, to whats familiar, this remnant of my past life. . . . I don't feel like I have much of a life anymore with all the seroquel I take. All I do is sleep. Sleep and get wasted.
Anyway, the party in the Southside is somewhat better – a room full of Indie Rock Beards, but I'd rather be around these guys than those long haired sorority girls at the previous party.
Give it a few minutes, and I'm asking my friend if he knows where I can find some yay. And then I'm calling M.
Basically, I was up until the afternoon sitting in a small room in the Southside doing rails and drinking Keystone Ice and talking. The blow kept coming out of M.s pocket and how was I to say no? The guys who owned the house, who I would say I am somewhat "friends" with, they are a little hesitant.
Fuck it though. . . .  and by the afternoon I am so high my teeth are once again chattering and I'm shaking and it doesn't matter how much I drink. . . I just have to let the cocaine go through my body. . . I have to deal.

I take M. back to a bar since he doesn't want to go to his boys house like this, and then I drive home in the midst of a snowstorm, trying not to shake too much.
Get home:
do dishes. might as well do something with my energy.
clean the bathroom. . . again . .
search for my seroquel, find it, 100mgs and then I'm waiting.
The waiting is horrible though. My heart is pounding faster and faster and I know it's anxiety but I also know it's the drug and I can't tell the difference and it is very hard to calm down.
My mother keeps calling me, I can't lay down on the couch because I keep gasping for air and needing to move.
So I answer the phone
and Mom, mom, mom. . . . she says "you have to fight these demons in your head"

ha. I tell her that I just want to be left alone to die, that I understand there are things that I have to do, but I don't want to do them, I don't care about them. I don't care.
And yeah I say "I've been drinking" but to what extent I feel she doesn't need to know.
The sun beats down from the large windows in the living room. I fucking hate the sun when I haven't slept, when I've been up doing coke all night in a dark room.
My mom wants me to go home. She says she can't make an appointment for me anymore, but she doesn't understand why I wont go.
I haven't gone to any appointments I've made – due to hangovers, apathy, or sleep. . . but I'm well aware that I can barely do the minimum of self care. . .
She says if I go home we will get "squared away" on my medicines, and get to feeling allllll better!
Like I fucking believe  it. But I do need a place to lay down for a while, away from everyone. .  . . true,  I can find whatever I want wherever. . . but the different surroundings might make me less inclined to want to go out.
I don't know. Either way, I walked out on my job so I'm not able to pay rent. I lost my boyfriend, the only thing I really gave a fuck about, a month ago. My sister does porno pics for booze money and lies like a motherfucker. My other roomie here hates us both. I need a fucking out.
So tomorrow I'm going back home.


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