Okay…

I spent the night out in the city with some friends I haven’t seen in ages. It was fun, I guess.

On my way home, the strangest thing happened.

I live in the city, like, twenty minutes from the city centre. Some woman I’ve never seen before came up to me. She was late twenties to mid thirties. She took my hand (I really have to stop making that mistake with strangers just because they look harmless). Asked me where I was from. Then, I kid you not, she sniffed my neck and kissed me on the face. She was like “You’re nice. I like Australians”. I was like “uhhh, that’s great…”, but I was really thinking “don’t make any sudden moves, otherwise she might turn violent”. No, I kid, but it was weird. And really creepy. In another time or place, I might be flattered, but I’m still really creeped out by it. I’ve been hit on by older women before, but this crossed a whole heap of personal boundaries.

Anyway, I’m home now. It’s half past 12 and I have work tomorrow, but I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about death.

Sometimes, I wonder if we don’t die every time we sleep, and if the person who wakes up is just someone else with the same memories.

I did something pretty stupid the other day and posted a death threat I got from some guy I didn’t know (who thought I tried to murder my former best friend. I didn’t of course, and that is why they are my FORMER best friend) on Facebook. It was probably a stupid thing to do. I don’t really care. People will get over it. And if they don’t, it probably won’t matter to me for much longer anyway. So fucking sick of hearing that story. Not everything people say has to be true. But then, I’m still friends with her sister, so what does that say about how reliable people think her version of events is.

Right now, I think I might just kill myself. I don’t know how, my dad took all my belts. I live on the fourth floor of an apartment building, so I could just jump off the balcony. The thought of somehow surviving and spending the rest of my natural life as a drooling quadriplegic doesn’t really appeal. I think maybe I’ll call the number the councillor woman gave me, but I wish I could just somehow get a shotgun, put the barrel in my mouth and pull the trigger with my toes.

My girlfriend called me a couple of times. She complains that I am always sick or drowsy or agitated. I’m not really enjoying it either, but if I don’t take my fucking meds I think I might kill myself. Probably will one day anyway. She’s always complaining about that too. Tells me she wishes I could be normal. Says she feels powerless to help me. She’s a pharmacist, and pharmacists are like the only profession that have really been helping me anyway. My backpack is practically a whole fucking mobile pharmacy. I’m taking half a dozen different drugs just for the sake of stopping me from hurting myself.

Every time I think about happy memories, I feel sad and empty. I feel lonely all the time, no matter who I’m with. I only sleep because my meds knock me out and I never want to get out of bed, even though I have to go to work. And sometimes, I hate work. I only have one more day before the holidays, but just thinking about going tomorrow makes me want to be sick.

Why am I even here? Friendship is a twisted joke. My mother texted me the other day saying she has finally decided that she wants to have me in her life again, that’s a joke too, I still remember what it was like before. Work is a joke too, I spend two weeks in hospital then come in to a meeting with my supervisor (who makes me wait because she is two hours later than she said she’d be) so she can lecture me for not having a medical certificate with me right then and there. All I’ve really got is my girlfriend, and she keeps telling me she wishes I was normal. Normal. Now that’s a fucking joke.

I just wish I found it funny.