i don't think this is really writing.

i really haven't left my house very much this week. in fact, i haven't really even left my room. and it's disgusting dirty in there. disgusting for me anyway... there are some clothes on the floor and things.

sometimes i wish i was back in rehab.

i always had enough space because people didn't want me around.

and i always had cigarettes for when i felt like i was going to have a panic attack.

i used to have "back-up smokes" hidden away in my closet.

remember that shit?

     but red meat has been making me queasy lately. i think i'm probably going to go back to being a vegetarian by the time the week is out. and tight spaces make me squirm too. but i keep grabbing onto your waist like i never want to let go. and social awkwardness. don't even get me started on that. and i keep getting these out of breath feelings. like i'm going to pass out right in front of everyone. just fall over, faces hits the floor and conversation goes on normally. maybe i'm disappearing. i really wish i hadn't traded all of my medication away, i need to stop doing that. 

      and is it completely desperate that i really want to tell my gay uncle that i'm gay, too? 

      am i that low on the social scale?

      do i want someone to relate to that badly?

      it doesn't matter--i'm still too afraid to say anything to him.

      why do i even think about this shit.

      god i hate it. 

      stupid sense of self entitlement--matt was right!

      and i think it's very stupid that i can't look at my own writing on my home computer because it's blocked for "tobacco, illegal drugs, alcohol" references. is the pcu even capable of computing my daily life? does it even know who i am? do you? the door is open to my bedroom and s is sleeping in there and i want to tell my sister to stop singing so loudly because i don't want her to wake up. i think i did something wrong. i can't even describe the feeling--i haven't done enough today to do anything wrong. why do i keep thinking? why do i keep...

i don't know how i feel today.


i wish i was smoking parliaments and talking like it was easy.


i wish i did more than just sleep all day and wait for house arrest because maybe i won't see people then and i can be calm and be collected and just go to alcoholics anonymous meetings all day.


i wish things pointed to me being real again.


i feel very fake.


but i don't know how i feel today.