Sometimes people look at me and wonder why I’m so sad. I know they do. They give me shot after shot, as if vodka can inflate a smile. And it does. But everything that can be inflated can be deflated. And so it does.
They comment on my long hair. Oh it’s so long. Oh it’s so healthy. And I laugh and I tell them of how long it took to grow it but they don’t realise the work it took. This means nothing to no one. Long hair is a stupid thing to discuss. I don’t know what I want to discuss.
I love the night but I feel like I identify with it too much. The darkness makes sense to me. It is natural for me to feel isolated. Yet, I am not. I am not.
My head is buzzing. One whiskey, two cocktails, two tequila shots and four vodka caramel shots will do that to you. For the second time this week , I was called a party animal. I don’t know who else to be. My friends will be angry when they read this.
There is something I am meant to. I just don’t know what it is.
Sometimes I feel voices marching towards me like an army. I don’t know what they are saying. Maybe it’s the Bipolar talking. But I do feel an energy marching towards me. And sometimes it’s dark, and sometimes it’s light, but usually it’s strange oppressive combination.
I talk to people who cut me out of their lives but I still love them.
I hate the way I love everybody.
I hate the I am trying to stop that.
This is the most useless post ever.