2003-04-24 - 9:22 p.m.
Well, if there was any doubt before that I was losing my mind, it has now been solidly confirmed.
Exhibit A: Last week I decided, at 4am on a thursday, that it was a good idea to drunken email my ex. THE ex. THE ex that has psychologically scarred me for life and who, coincidentally, has been pseudo stalking me for the past four years since I broke up with him.
Ex has been kind enough to leave me the fuck alone for the past three months, as he has probably at this point finally come to terms with our excrutiatingly painful breakup and is moving on with his life. To return the favor, I decided to send a few desperate and spiteful words his way via my good friend the internet.
Why, you might ask? Because I'm an asshole. What other possible explanation could there be? It said something along the lines of "You may hate me because I don't love you, but I hate YOU because you do love me and you are too selfish to bury those feelings and be my friend the way I need you to be." Obviously I'm paraphrasing to spare myself the full embarrassment of reliving the actual words, but let's just say it was a tantrum of epic proportions and completely undeserved, not to mention the most self centered rant I've ever dared to unleash.
The ex has been kind enough not to respond, however, if my dead bloated body washes up on the river bank in a couple of months, it will be a safe assumption that he had something to do with it.
Exhibit B: Yesterday I called my father from the confines of my cubicle, hysterically sobbing like a five year old and asking if I could move home. And today, when you'd think I'd be a bit more clear headed, I'm actually packing.
I'm both sickened and horrified at the prospect of moving back into my parents' house, though I also realize that I'm probably making the best decision possible right now and I'm insanely thankful that I even have the option. I've been comfortably shrugging off any major decision in my life for the past three years, content to keep drinking and smoking and spending irresponsibly until someone tells me I have to stop. Well, yesterday as I was doubled over at my desk with inexplicable pains in my chest and a check book in front of me that just would not balance, someone finally spoke up.
I had sort of an out of body experience, I guess, where I just finally woke up and realized I had to fucking do something. I'm not happy. I haven't been happy in a really long time, but I've really done nothing to change it. I hate my job, I hate where I live, I hate the fact that I'm broke all the time...I just hate it all at this point. And yet, I've been content to hide in my room or at the corner bar and pretend that I don't feel that way, or at least complain about it like it's just another inevitable truth...as if the fact that I hate my life is as fixed as the color of grass. In reality, what I really hate is that I've grown so jaded as to accept these things as my reality.
So, it's time for a major kick in the ass. I'm smoking myself out of my own fox hole. If I take away my only comfort, which would be the sanctuary of having my own place, then I will be forced to make the changes that I've been avoiding all this time. Four months. That's what I'm giving myself to turn my shit around. Actually, I just don't think I could last any longer than that under their roof. During those four months I will no doubt be more miserable than even I can possibly imagine, but my mother always said that part of being an adult is doing things you really don't want to do. That being the case, I feel more grown up right now than I ever have in my life.
