it's now 12:55 on saturday and my head buzzes achingly with the memory of myself pissily writing some sad attempt to try and release my bottled anger, which i'm not even going to bother deleting because this shitty blog's purpose seems to be solely dedicated to released despondency, so why should i hide it?
yes, i am still salty, clinging to the notion that a shitton of people have seen me as nothing more than disposable on account of the fact that my issues sometimes obstruct what'd otherwise be a very successful relationship of any sort. apparently they are so bad that nobody can see past them. and when i have nights like the aforementioned, it just reinforces that, as i sit down watching Nolan films in utter inebriation pouring myself another by the minuto.
my headache is hardly right now the most painful part of the postdrunk experience, what's always pestered me about the morning after a night of consuming toxins is the hardness that settles at the pit of my stomach, the abdominal discomfort of having godknowshow many ounces of liquor fermenting there and heavily weighing. it's not so much a feeling of incontinence as it is the psychological reminder of the night before and how i could be continually so asinine as to imbibe like this whenever an onslaught of furious emotional turmoil ravages me. you think after all this time i would be over it, that i would be happily living my ilfe as someone who has an actual job and some form of a lousy degree that counts for something, yet i'm still plagued by what'd otherwise be banished to the annals of my mind if it weren't for the pain that resonated over it.
you wish you could just move on, but there's someone always scratching at the door begging for regression. you wish you could just stop being issued altogether to avoid evver being treated like someone's waste again, you wish you could stop downing medication prescribed by doctors who just keep finding more deficiency arise, but you never do, and it's always there.
part of me is still weakened, and it's not ideal. i'm not ideal by any stretch. i can pride myself in some of my accomplishment, but at the end of the day, a part of me is always going to linger in a stance that says "you can't, you're incapable, you're unforgivable, audrey". you'll never amount to anything. after all, that's what they've eventually said. even my father furiously resorted to such pettiness in my NEET stint. and it's proof that humanity is shit. everyone leaves. there is nothing ideal, there is no one perfect who'll unconditionally adore you for who you are, and people are gonna be more prone to leave if you're the farthest from perfection, even if they themselves refuse to acknowledge their own flaws in the hypocrisy of leaving you for your own.
you've been down before, you've been hurt before, you got up before, and it's an endless cycle.
maybe you aren't long for this world, honey, says something in the back of my mind. and i don't know. in an unknowing, tricky life with an undefined start, an undefined trek, and an undefined end, what's the point in living truly to a fullest point? just let it breeze by as undefined as its unknown span.
never befriend anyone outside yourself, never fully trust anyone wholeheartedly, never give yourself to anyone or anything else. simply live in an eternal caution where nothing and no one can hurt you, and you'll never have the shards of the past occasionally streak across the bare skin of your back. then you're fuckin' invincible. living in the least humanly way possible.