I’m staying with my friend Matt for a few days. He’s a good influence. Easy to talk to. I needed to get out of the house without completely destroying myself in the process. Matt’s an awesome guy. He’s getting married in the spring. He’s been with her for seven years. I can’t imagine. If I’m ever going to have a relationship that lasts more than a few months, I’d have to find a girl who’d blatantly refuse to leave no matter the circumstances.
We all have that special ideal of a perfect someone in our heads. Some of us will find that someone, some of us never will. I’m afraid I may be the latter. It doesn’t matter. I’m just trying to get through one day/ night at a time here.
I suppose I’ve been doing okay. There’s some deeply rooted sorrow gnawing at my every moment. It’s always been there, but times like this it tends to take the forefront. It’s too bad anti-depressants have never done it for me. I wish I could drug myself into comfortable oblivion. But I can’t. I won’t let myself. Talking to Matt helps. He’s clean, other than the occasional drink. His roommate has bags and bags of weed with buyers always at the door. I’ve been partaking every now and then. It helps, and it doesn’t.
I am not at ease, which I guess would make me diseased. I’m diseased.