June the 11th. I'm not writing this one down on the 12th, because "it's against the rules" or make me sound like a "fucking wino with no money that's drinking desinfectant alcohol gel as a substitute".
This year, I'm alone, again. I can't remember properly if that was the same condition in 2015....oh fucking Rivotril, eating away my memories, one at a time.
But that's all this fucking day is about, really: to remind people how lonely they actually are.
how lonely they will turn out to be, for many, many, many, many years.
I now remember something about my ex....she said, last year, she was buying herself gifts "Because she was the best girlfriend in HER world!"
Her world. Not mine. Never, never, mine.
So no, I was alone too in 2015. That makes for four decades of solitude.
And people wonder WHY I'm all fucked up and weird. I really don't care when they say it's all commercial. No, it's about to act as a counter of how many fucking years you've spent alone, in misery.
Thirty-nine. Survived a 80 pill Rivotril overdose and a 75 x 50mg Pamelor OD - no harm done other than humiliate myself and had some days cut off my salary. Both of them caused by the same person, who now is gone forever off my life, because of me and my fucked up head, mouth and fingers.
The big question remains - why the FUCK am I still alive? Whatever for?
That's the question I made myself again and again at the hospital ward I had to spend the night because of my latest OD, the Pamelor one.
Each passing year, I believe less and less in myself. I drift away farther from people, centimeter by centimeter. I have less and less "true" friends.
Each fucking Valentine's Day, it makes me want to die bigger, faster, more. Because what Lewis Black(do your research) was right - it's a fucking day to remember us loners how alone we are and how alone we are still going to be next year.
I'll consider it as a sanity meter: how many lonely VDs can I take before I really cash myself out?
"Ooooohhhhh, he lived thru 47 lonely VDs....."
You KNOW there's something fucked up with you when all your friends got their valentines and all you got are sex toys and weird porn. For more than a decade.
I wish I could erase what I've done, or at least parts of it, the nastiest shit. But, alas, so is life. No undo button combo. No safepoint. You're going through hell, and you must get on going.
You're on drugs, you've always been. Can't remember a single day without one. Legal or not, I was, am, will be on drugs. And they've helped me a lot, oh they did - to fuck me from the inside out.
2 ODs because of the same person, no regrets. The only regret I have is that I did not die. Rivotril will just turn you into a mutant, deviant drunken asshole - very, very, very angry, and at some point you will forget everything. Pamelor COULD have killed me, but the stupid asshole here forgot to add alcohol to the equation.
I still don't know what the FUCK am I doing here. Being alone for yet another year, feeling like shit all day long - and now they won't even let me go to work at 4:30 in the morning,like I tried doing so to compensate for lost hours of the migraine days. No sir, yet another 500 $ cut to your paycheck, blocked access from the door, you know, all the works.
Either I've got a major case of Evil Eye, or life is tinking: this hasn't been fucked enough. Let's up the stakes.
Valentine's Day.
Fuck you, VD - at least I don't have to buy nothing to anyone.
