pudding

i am going nowhere. you here me out there? nowhere. decipher that one bitches! and i thought i would come out of this as like a better version of myself. like a fucking super-cassie or something. i would be impervious to the little slights and pitfalls of daily life, or at least not let the crush me so bad. but hey, let us now face the truth, i have low self-esteem. though i believe that shit is highly overrated anyway. but mine is in the garbage can. and i want to drink, but i can't cause i don't have a provider. i could probably find one, but it's too much effort. you always think you'll be a better person but it never really pans out. no super-duper cassie. same cassie, same shit. same crushing little things. and at least now i have a million stories about people who are worse off than me so i can reflect on them when i'm down, super sensitive right. but thats the first example people give, 'there is always someone worse off than you'. like that really makes it ok. it just sounds dirtier coming out of my mouth. everything sounds dirtier coming from me. people don't want to here that shit, not from me, anyone else but not me. and i'm just a fucked up little girl wandering around the streets at night. not really wandering, but it sounded emo enough to fill in the space. and i wanted so much more out of this too, i thought it would be like a car wash. go in fucked up looking and come out shiny and clean and new. no dents or none of that shit. but no, i am sick to my stomach. and all that shit hasn't been washed away, you can read it on my body. thats why i put it there. and they say to set small goals, that this shit doesn't happen over night and not to expect it to. i am impatient. i hate waiting, over time nothing gets better inside my head. it gets worse. and maybe that is all i was good for. the car wash experience. and what happens when they take the net away. free fall, that is what happens. but you say you are fine, because no one likes blue calming rooms, not even crazy people. they aren't calming, they are like hell in a box. i really just want someone to talk to tonight, i wish i could call joe. but even then i don't think he would completely grasp the extent of the craziness. the feeling that drives me to type like this. i've never wanted to be anything but alive and happy about it. other people are happy, i want that too. who doesn't, let's not fool ourselves here. "it ain't hard to get under people's skin when they didn't have any to begin with." andyism #724. and i would love to project this totally buff ass image that other people see in me, but i would be lying. and lying sucks. i don't want to suck. i don't fucking know a damn thing tonight. goddamn if i am not worthless for thought this evening. maybe i should play in the handbook they gave us, telling us how to deal with shit. the average human doesn't need an instruction manual, but wind-up toys like me do. food for thought. this will be good for nothing tomorrow, or however long it takes me to come back to my senses. but for now it is damn fine, perfect fit.