So, I've Made it to Twenty.

Begin of blog song: I'm A Mess; Ed Sheeran.

The last post that I made was a tough one. It was one of those, "light at the end of the tunnel" posts made during a spectacularly dark period in my life, and I'd like to make one very crucial correction before I continue with today's post. I am not an addict. I know what you're thinking, "but that's exactly what an addict would say" or maybe you're thinking, "then why the fuck would you say that you were?" and the reason for that is a simple one, I didn't know what else to call myself. I mean, come on! What else do you call someone who has a history of substance abuse? I don't know, maybe it doesn't matter what I am, all I know is that when the going gets tough I get going, may that be down a pill bottle or an alcoholic one. I have shit poor coping skills, I'm not proud, but I don't really care all that much either.

To say that I haven't touched any substances since that day would be a bold faced lie, I've swallowed handfuls of pills and drank the contents of my liquor cabinets, hell sometime's I even did both at once, but I don't think that makes me an addict, it just makes me stupid with a possible death wish, but what else is new?

I don't know what the point of this post is, I guess I wanted to say that, and that I haven't acted on any of my bad coping mechanisms since my birthday, on January 26, so maybe that's improvement. Or maybe not, I don't know, I've been sober for too long. Isn't that funny? I don't want to call myself an addict but I've been sober for too long.

The other day I woke up from a really bad night terror and it sort of all went downhill from there. I'm back home with my mum now, so I've had to get a bit more creative with my hiding places, and don't feel as comfortable with solo (day) drinking anymore. Anyways, I think I got a bit too creative with my hiding places because when I went to look for a little helper to take the edge off I couldn't find the bastard and man, that was tough. I really hate having to be faced with my own emotions, especially since half the time they don't make any fucking sense.

I won't say where I get my pills from, (god I don't even want to say the word pills, I want to sensor it out, isn't that funny?) but anyways, where ever I do get them from, well, there are more now. If I want them, I mean, there are more. Uni stress is piling up, and sleep is harder to get than ever before, and it's not so much that I'm always on but I'm never completely off either.

What is the point of this post? I don't fucking know, I feel antsy and empty, and full, and not enough, but too much, and so completely calm all at the same time and I don't know what any of this means. I've stopped writing, but maybe I'll start back tonight, Lord knows I've about a thousand other things that I should be doing.

So, I've made it to 20. Not much has changed, and somehow, telling the world my dirty little secrets has made it easier for me to hide them.

End of blog song: Psychotic Girl; The Black Keys.

(isn't that funny?)