I woke up this morning all cut to hell, like all the crap I never deal with during the day attacks me in my dreams. Making me fight till I bleed. I don't remember much of the night before, I've got the highlights but I don't know where I got all my injuries, or why I dreamt the things I did.

I find this increasing more and more. I'm convinced I'm just looking for all the ways to fuck up my life. Given any given choice I'm going to choose wrong. Like I finally believe it's too late. Yeah very early in my life it was too late.

I went to a party full of people I barely knew, I think I was the youngest person there. I sat in a corner with my humongous bottle of cheap wine, just drinking and thinking. Until I didn't have to worry any more about the constant doubts that whisper in my ear. I was listening to Ernst and Julio Gallo and laughter all around me. Until I could live up to my reputation. "Oh you're so much more fun when you drink!!" this is a compliment paid to me more times than I like to acknowledge. What exactly does that say about me? But I don't have to think about that cause my bottle is empty and it's time to move on.

And I laugh, and talk, and entertain until these people are in stitches. I'm sure I see the pity in their eyes despite how great I am, but I don't have to be what they see. I don't have to be a direct reflection. Cause I'm so much more fun when I drink and I've got a bottle of wine and three beers coursing through me.

I went to bed disgusted with myself and woke up bruised, bloody, and cut.

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