I often have trouble just starting journals. I just don't know quite how to jump into whatever I would like to write. I want to be direct, but not to where its just an explosion in a single paragraph. Also, I have to delete about 4-5 lines each journals simply because there's too much detail. I think too much.
I'm a really bad kid, just saying.
Now to the point, I got rather intoxicated on Monday ( a very nice way to say that I got exorbitantly drunk.) It's actually not really in my character to get drunk, I enjoy alcohol quite a lot, but mostly in a very (for lack of a better word) sophisticated manner. But for whatever reason, I just thought "Fuck it, I'm stressed." and tipped back the bottle(s).
I was not alone in my debauchery of course, my lovely friends were right there with me on the self-destruction line. At first it was really chill, just hanging out, sipping and watching old Batman movies. But as time went on, it went from chill to totally out of control, balls to the wall, debutante drunk. It was really quite the fun experience, up until around 7 o'clock, when we all went on some insane depression rampage. The next thing I know I'm sitting on the bathroom floor, by myself, with the lights off, balling my eyes out.
There was this never ending continuum of every lonely feeling and moment that had ever occurred in my short life, which just got worse and worse as the memories began to piece themselves back together with vivid detail. All the days in middle school standing by myself in the hallways, wanting someone to talk to me; On the playground in elementary by myself because none of the other kids wanted to play with me; overdosing on a side street of an outdoor shopping mall. Next thing, I'm crying over my friends shoulder as she comforts me. She's the best. The next two hours were really uneventful, but the night ended with a swim at the community pool. I had sobered up by now, and I did make a discovery: I really like my body.
Now that sounds really odd, but hear me out. For years, I have obsessed about my weight. Bulimia, Anorexia are both old friends. At this point in my life however, walking around shirtless doesn't bother me, or walking around in cute little speedo underwear either ;D. It's just odd, that after all the years of torturing myself, I feel good about who I am.
I have nothing more to say.