Pandora

Vicodin and Valium

21 Sept 2003
Sunday, 1:05 a.m.

Earlier today i was having a conversation about
epiphanies, and I had one about myself. There is never
going to be a time when I'm not fucked up. And that makes
me feel like having a drink with the pills leftover from
my dental surgery. Which would be great, except that I
worry (1) that I wouldn't die; and that (2) whether I did
or not everyone would know that I was fucked up (which,
interestingly, even in death I still care about. Figures.)
It's not going to be a good year; I feel it already. I'm
already overwhelmed, I feel like a failure, my own
therapist won't call me back (WTF is that all about?!) and
I can't really tell anyone, because God forbid anyone see
me as less than the well-rested, well put together,
intelligent, driven, dynamic, sophisticated person I've
always been. FUCK, I'm tired. I just want to take pills
and go to sleep. I wish I could sleep. I swear, I thought
there was nothing worse than being sleepy and not being
able to go to sleep due to committments and
engagements...I was dead wrong. Being exhausted and not
physically able to fall asleep is worse. Maybe I'll stay
up and watch a movie (why did I pay for cable and there
are no good movies on?). I can't remember the last time I
was this uncontrollably unhappy and it makes me wish I
could cut myself out of my own skin. I actually thought
about calling my mother. At 1 a.m. Wouldn't that be rich.
Then this would really turn into a catastrophe, and she'd
start treating me like she does my brother, and then begin
the whole discourse about her as a mother, effectively
making it all about her (because, of course, everything is
about her) and my whole life would go to pieces because
that would end any chance of me ever having any kind of
control over my own life (silly me for thinking leaving
would accomplish that).

I think perhaps I am not eating this week.