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2018-05-30 13:44:27 (UTC)

you can never tell the truth but you can tell something that sounds like it

"Happy News for Sadness" by Car Seat Headrest

I liked you better when you hated yourself
Every time I think about love
I think about me thinking about you

Changing your anatomy
Hipbone is connected to my heart
Every time I think about love
I think about you thinking about me

Nobody wants to know
What you got to say at all
Nobody cares about
Your life and the people in it

*You can never tell the truth
But you can tell something that sounds like it*

Wednesday May 30, 2018 1:46 PM

I need to get out of here, I think. I am not sure how to explain this to Lancelot when I get back: it is something about home that fills me up and over. I knew I was anxious for no particular reason, but it reached it's (hopeful) peak yesterday. Suddenly everything was terrible??? I almost lost this hair product I use after I take a shower and I felt ready to cry. I went to Alexis's: it was kind of awful. Fun for a bit, but we headed to the dollar store and the Walmart and I felt trapped.

Some stupid stuff happened where my sister had to pack clothes for me so I could stay over at Alexis's apartment, and the whole thing made me so nervous that afterwards I cried a little in the parking lot. Alexis and Kay (I was with both) hugged me on either side and I said, "Fuck you!" and laughed them off. I didn't feel bad, I was just shaking and crying. Hugging me felt like holding me down and I didn't like it. I immediately wanted to get drunk and Kay ranted about Alexis and I being alcoholics because we use vodka to help us express our feelings or dull them or whatever. I told Alexis later: I'm 19, I am not an alcoholic. I'm just at RISK of becoming an alcoholic.

And we laughed because it's fucked up but it's also kind of true, and that combined state is our sense of humor. Probably because there's only a couple things you can do in situations like that: laugh or cry. Crying is so exhausting and useless sometimes. Maybe I only think that because I cry all the time.

Alexis and I feed off each other in the worst way sometimes. I think we're both in a weird place, and it's probably best that we don't live near each other. When we drink, we drink too much. Last night we just smoked until we fell asleep because we're both reckless, we're both like: what's the worst that can happen? How badly can this really hurt us? Let's find out. Regret is for the morning.

We're impulsive together, I dunno, and we agree. We get along really well, but it's just—good that I'm leaving home tomorrow. I don't want to spend half my week high and/or drunk. I like sitting around reading, restless, sad. I need to be careful that I don't hurt myself in a way that is out of my control, you know?

Oh. Jax also came by. I bought an eighth of weed from him, and he stuck around to talk to us for... 30 minutes to 2 hours. Not sure. At that point, I had smoked enough that I lost a solid sense of time. Jax mostly only spoke to Alexis, and it was alternately about the people he's had sex with and the drugs he's done. I like Jax enough, but I was bored and slightly offended. He asked if I had any crazy college experiences, but I kind of didn't—not like the ones he claims to have. I say claims just because I think he has to be lying about some. He's even told us: he lies sometimes just because he can.

Ugh. Last night was just. A time. I should've known, honestly, that smoking weed would do little to make me less anxious. Jax's presence ruined my high because after he left I immediately started complaining, and then Alexis complained, and then Kay complained, and then I felt terrible for complaining as I worried he heard us through the window. Kay said, "Y'all are mad fake," for our shit-talking and I wondered if that was true. Maybe it is. I have to reassess myself in some ways. As usual.

I just don't want to hurt anyone. Jax is nice. He deserves to be happy. Just maybe not around me, because I am totally uninterested in his various trips on shrooms, on acid, on whatever. I was only interested when he spoke about his art, and even then it was closely tied in with drug use so I was like. Meh.

Anyway, it's my fault I felt bad. I let myself do some stupid things to try and bury my anxiety. It didn't work. I am still nervous and sad and I can't wait to drive back to Providence, which is not my home but it is a waystation and I need to be there right now.

I also want to get away from Charlie. We really don't see another enough for me to want space or anything, but I feel like we talk all the time and like. I don't know. It's grossing me out. At the same time, I smile to myself in the mirror and say: relax. It's temporary. It is always temporary.

Charlie was having a Time yesterday. He texted me about being a terrible human being, which to him meant that he quietly takes people apart in his head to make himself feel better about his life and situation and self. He wants to change that, become more productive. These kinds of texts always make me laugh, because I want to say I knew all along. I want to tell to them what has been told to me: that whatever they're feeling is not original or unique. Just another iteration of the human experience. But that's undermining and I hate it, so I usually keep my mouth shut unless the person is really stupid, whatever that means.

I feel bad for my own immediate reactions to Charlie opening up. He called himself boring. I don't think he's boring. At least not right now.

Wow! Socializing is so grounding and I am not sure that I always like it. Maybe let me float away for a bit. Let me shrink inside my heeeaad.

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