Oh My Head

Here we go again…fuck…not again. My head is splitting and I threw up in my bed again, this time while I was sleeping…disgusting. Not again, Jesus, not again. I change my sheets and get back in bed, pulling the covers over my face…there is a tear rolling slowly down my face. I don’t want to be me today, I’m going to bed and I don’t ever want to wake up again. But, the phone vibrates.

“you ever call me when youre in that condition again, don’t even bother…”

I don’t even need to read the rest of that, I know what it says. I sent something back along the lines of “good morning.”

“I really have nothing nice to say to you right now so forgive me for skipping out on pleasantries”

“Forgiven”

Great…just fucking wonderful, I can’t hide under these sheets forever but I never want to leave. Today I hate me and I just don’t understand. I really just don’t understand why I keep doing this to myself. What am I trying so hard to drink out of my mind? Countless glasses of bourbon aren’t helping me like I wish they would. Sometimes I really hate myself, I hate this feeling…the aftermath. Just fucking great, there goes the phone again.

“cute. and congrats on succeeding on your mission to piss me off even more”

Jesus CHRIST. What do I even say back to that? I feel like I just got shot. I’m so fucking sick of this…so sick of this emotional hangover. I can’t do this fucking crap to myself anymore, one of these days I’m going to wake up and the phone isn’t going to vibrate…one day there isn’t going to be anyone who cares. Someday I will be alone.

Shit, someday I’m not going to wake up period.

I love how you can just turn me off and on like a light, or maybe you can’t, I don’t fucking know. One minute you’re telling me you love me and then the next the switch flips and I feel like the worst person on the planet. Hmmm, maybe it isn’t you flipping the switch, maybe I’m the one. I really don’t know what to do right now, I just want to be somewhere else, and not here...somewhere no one knows me. Lucky for me, EZ seems to be thinning the ranks of people who care about me on a nightly basis. I just remember her saying, “I don’t want to talk to you when you’re like this.” Know what, love, I don’t want to be like this…

Sanity is like sand, it seems like I have the biggest handful of it and I feel great, on top of the world and so alive, but all the while it’s slipping through my fingers. I wish this wasn’t happening and I know I’m not powerless to stop it, I know it’s my choice to stop doing this to myself…sometimes I just feel like I have none. I just lay here in my bed, occasionally putting a sentence on this screen, wishing this would just all stop…wishing I could just float away. I can’t do this to myself anymore.

Who is this person staring back at me in the mirror…I don’t know who he is. Oh wait. I’m staring at shit in the toilet again, somewhere Jake is chuckling. Ok, now I really don’t recognize this person I’m looking at. Who is he? What did he do to deserve this? Why am I trying to kill him?

Normally I would just pick up the phone and call you, say I’m sorry and tell you I love you. Today I know you just don’t want to hear it…you don’t want to hear my voice, do you? This makes me feel less than a person, like I’m not even human anymore. I hope you know I really am…I really am sorry. I’ve got a letter here that I’m writing you, one that tells you everything…I am about to set it on fire. Ok maybe setting off the fire alarm isn’t such a good idea.

My destructive side has grown a mile wide / And I question myself again / What is it about me?

The phone isn’t vibrating anymore; I guess being alone hit quicker than I thought it would. I wish I could just see your name on it…but not today, I guess. This sucks. This really really really fucking sucks. Glass half empty or glass half full? HA, the glass is broken on the floor. I feel like the glass was always empty.

This scares me. It scares me to know that if my mother saw her son like this, so misguided and so alone, she would cry. What scares me even more is that I know my father would cry as well. What is your son becoming? Is it really like Benedict Smith says, “This is what you were always going to become,” is it really like this? I really don’t want to believe that. “To each his own,” he said, and I value that advice like you wouldn’t believe. This isn’t me; I just wish I could convince myself to believe that. I don’t know what to believe anymore.

This house of cards is falling down and I only wish I had a friend to help me put it back together. I understand you don’t want to deal with my volatility but I didn’t think you would just cut me off…the phone just rang, I flew to the other room, knocked over my fan like a fucking douche but…it wasn’t you.

“Are you ok, Cheese?”

“No”

“You know one of these days this shit is gonna kill your ass.”

“I’m aware”

“Why don’t you come over, I just rolled a blunt, we’ll talk?”

“I’ll be there in 10.”

Only a real friend could say that to me…“its gonna kill your ass.” As much as I might say the opposite…I want to keep waking up. This has got to end. If you are going to threaten me and say you are walking out of my life I will change. Or at least I’ll give it my all…I promise you I’ll try. I’ll be back in a few hours.

Alright…

The afternoon shaped up to be halfway decent, probably thanks to the obscenely massive blunt at Ro’s house and a two and a half hour movie called “The Green Street Hooligans.” Um…fucking see this movie TONIGHT, if you don’t like it I’ll pay for the rental (and you have no taste). We hung out and shot the shit for a few hours, I told him about Girl on the Phone, he said I was fucking nuts…I agreed. He also told me that if she really does care about me she would be pressuring me to stop fucking drinking myself half to death. I told him she already did.

I told her it scared me that one of these nights my drunken ass is going to drive off of a bridge. She said, “Who cares,” and asked me how it would feel if I plowed into someone else and killed them…she started to cry. She asked me how I would live with myself and I wanted to say I would go home and stick my AK-47 in my mouth and paint my apartment with brain and skull matter. Before I could say so, she told me that living with it would be my punishment for life, I dropped my head into my hands…she was right, blasting myself would be the coward’s way out. We kept talking about why I do this to myself and how disturbing it is to listen to me when I call drunk…apparently I don’t sound like the same person. We hung up and I took a deep breath and started thinking, I need a totally Trojan plan right now otherwise I am going to die. She called back not five minutes later.

“I forgot to tell you…I love you………………..fucker.”

Now its time to scheme, time to plan and figure this shit out. Its time to get this head straight and stop pissing on my life and everything I have worked (moderately) hard for. Its time to go, get up and stop fucking puking in my sleep (she pointed out that had I been sleeping on my back I would have pulled a Jimi Hendrix and choked on it…yet another close call). Its time to get up off my moping ass and get shit done…its time to prove that this is not who I am…

…its go time mother fuckers.