2002-04-04 - 4:36 a.m.
2002-04-04 - 4:36 a.m.
i need your loving. like the sunshine.
im moving to mexico. im going to smuggle drugs and illegal immigrants into the us. and i am going to get gunned down by the united states border patrol. and everyone at my funeral will say, wow, didnt expect that to happen.
at least then my life would have been funny.
and i would probably have more money than i do now.
i never sleep. its just not interesting.
well that's not true. i go through spurts where in find sleep very appealing and i sleep about 20 hours a day, then ill go a few weeks sleeping about 4 hours a night.
my arm hurts. i have discovered the wonders of razor blades. like the old school ones that is just the blade. we never had them in my house or anything, so i always just used safety pins or my swiss army knife (boy scout style represent. im kidding. i would never let myself get molested in those stupid little uniforms. if the boy scouts had some cooler shit, well then maybe. like automatic weapons or hand to hand combat. id wear a stupid uniform for that. i think the NRA has youth camps. what am i talking about)
so yeah. i went to the store and i bought razor blades. its just surprising how sharp they are. the make such tiny precise cuts into my arm with so much more ease. which i found out the hard way obviously, since i wasnt used to it i sliced this huge fucking gash in my arm. its not like i dont have plenty of others to match it. i think i have an appointment with my primary care physician on friday. i wonder if its going to be one of those quick "so are you going to kill yourself?" meetings, or whether he'll do an examination. or blood work. my liver is fucked from all of these drugs. i think i have the liver of a 50 year old alcoholic. i wonder if i can go to AA meetings because of my liver.
who wants to compare liver cell counts?!
why does the past always seem better?
probably because your brain makes it that way. sugar-coated memories.
although if you think about it, even if you take something that tastes nasty and put sugar on it, it still tastes nasty. maybe thats why i can still remember how it feels to be hurt.
or i can just look at my arm. that always reminds me!
my mom wants me to come home tomorrow. she thinks im having a wacky reaction to my medication, when in reality i was in withdrawal.
maybe i should be in the hospital. i think i could probably get, hmm, at least 6 people to visit me. or maybe they would all shun me for being a nut case.
such is life.
and it sucks.
i always consider hanging myself from the pipes in my room. it seems like it would be an interesting way to die. or maybe getting a long rope and tying it to one of the pipes, putting it around my neck, and jumping out the window. that would be interesting. especially if i could get to the right length on the rope to crash through someone's window a few floors down. if im going to go, i may as well go with style.
although im not quite sure that consititutes as style.
i am super-trendy.
i dont think i mentioned how i hear voices in my head. i talk to my doctors about it and they raise my anti-psychotic medication. i dont really hear the voices any more. occasionally, but not half as bad as i used to. i wonder if im schizo. i can tell that they make a conscious effort not to mention that word. which probably means in headed in that direction. BREAK OUT THE THORAZINE!
a bowl of cheerios with a side of haldol.
i am too funny.
blah. im going to bed. fuckers.