08/01/2012-Get your life together plan (a spark of genius)

I’ve decided. No, I’ve realized that I’m an adult. I have responsibilities and dreams—that are yet to be realized.

And what’s good about this plan is. It’s not long term like a year where you forget about it after the third month. It’s short term, as in it’s soon to be.

I’m high as fuck and I’m not very coherent.

So I’ll get to it.

My last confirmed job ends around mid February, I have three more jobs scheduled as well but I’m sure it will end around end of February at the latest. So my plan is; I’m checking back into the psychiatric ward (is that what they still it these days) on 01 March 2012. I will open up, talks to my father and tell him the truth. Tell him everything. And address everything. No more secrets and lies. Clean slate. I’ll recuperate, heal myself, read, write, draw, taking up knitting, god knows what. I’m young enough to take sometime off just for me. It can be my thing like when people take a year off to travel. I’m taking a year off to fix myself.

But until then, I’ll indulge—responsibly.

That was written at about 2 am, it’s 6:21 am and I’m still awake and still binging on coke. I’m running out and trying to deliberate buying more.

Cash is low and I think it got to the overdoing it stage around 28 hours ago.

I got to a low point at around 3-5 am, so after dwelling in my own sadness for a while, I turned to ‘google’ for help. I looked up ‘suicide hotline online chat’ and chatted with someone name Paul for an hourish.

I didn’t expect much, I think I just wanted to vent and share a part of myself to a stranger where they are not allowed to judge me because technically they are there to help but I think it’s just the need and how much easier it is to open yourself up—your real self, your real thoughts and feelings to someone when you’re protected by anonymity. There is no judgment or there is but you’re not directly affected by it, I mean the worst thing that can happen resulting from my outpour is Paul going home to his girlfriend and bitching about how some girl just kept whining on and on about her little rich girl issues and daddy doesn’t love me enough problems (which I’m sure Paul wouldn’t do). But I guess that does it for me more, I mean for now it beats having to drive to a psychiatrist, wait, talk to them, pretend to be a version of you they might want to see, get your drugs, manipulate and lie your way into getting prescribed something good. Then go home happy or defeated depending on your performance. It’s just better to liberate yourself to strangers because there are no strings attached. I don’t have to fake my progress to manipulate others/my doctor to get what I want because stranger Paul can’t do shit. I don’t need to pretend whether consciously or not. And there’s no catching up with this again next week, next week where there will be new issues to cry over and you go back to your doctor picking up something from the past that’s probably too far from your head now because you’ve gone and found yet another crisis to consume yourself with.

7:59 am

It’s official. I am out of coke.

And now it’s decision time. Do I buy more?