numb

I wish I could get drunk without severe depression kicking in. I miss alcohol being my escape. I know that's not sensible or productive, but I miss having an escape.

I feel sick, and I'm so tempted to make myself throw up again. Bingeing and purging - what a great habit to get into considering my (so called) best friend is a (so called) recovering anorexic bulimic.

digusted

I haven't got really drunk in a long time, but Saturday night was bad. Really bad.

I went to a boy from school's house with another school friend and the boy. Playing Centurion with home-made mojitos resulted in me sobbing on the kitchen floor, then later on having a huge blowout with the boy, telling him I didn't need him and screaming at him to stay away from me, apparently spitting in his face (although I don't remember this, and never thought I would be capable of it) and going into the bathroom to find something to cut with (fortunately I didn't find anything). I apologised in the morning, and amazingly he's forgiven me.

Why is it that whenever I end up with something remotely good in my life I have to press the self destruct button? Why do I do it? In relationships I push and push them, I'm constantly testing them to see how much they'll put up with. I don't want to do it anymore, I don't want to fuck up another good thing. I can't help but be filled with self-hatred, I really don't deserve him.

smashed

I've been reading Smashed: Growing Up a Drunk Girl by Koren Zailckas, and I just wanted to share this paragraph. It hit a little bit too close to home the first time I read it.

For many girls, alcohol abuse may be a stage that tapers off after the quarter life mark. Many will be spared arrests, accidents, alcoholism, overdoses, and sexual assaults. A whole lot of them will have close calls, incidents they will recount with self-mocking at dinner parties some fifteen years later. Some of them will have darker stories, memories or half memories or full-out blackouts, that they will store in the farthest corners of their mental histories and never disclose to their families or lovers. But I fear that women, even those women who escape the physical consequences of drinking, won't escape the emotional ones. I fear some sliver of panic, sadness, or self-loathing will always stay with us.