pudding

shake for me. i want to be so much better than ok. ok is sub-par. ok is not good enough. as it stands i am ok. that doesn't mean i'm good or great or even fine, i'm just ok. ok, basically means you have no reason to throw yourself off the nearest cliff. i would love to be better than not wanting to plunge to my doom. and i'm afraid of heights besides. at some point i had to have been better than this, but i can't remember a time when i felt better than this. i can remember feeling so much worse, but not better. and i want to drink away the evening again tonight but i have to work at eight in the morning. that would be a party foul. so, i have a new wallet. it's red. my meds are causing me to break out in hives, that sucks hardcore. i'm not sure that i want to be better, my dysfunction has become such a large part of me that i don't want to give it up. it would be like losing my best friend. bad cassie that is. i can imagine my good and bad halves making out because the bad half offered the good half a cookie. i don't know what to do with myself, i am restless. and overwhelmed. when you are in the hospital the focus is all on getting better and shit, and then you get out and all the things that pissed you off before are still there to piss you off. and then you face a cross-roads, do i act the same toward the things that piss me off or do i act differently. and i have acted exactly the same as i did before. am i a bit disappointed in myself, yes. but do i care, like really deep down care, no. no i don't. i think the problem here is that i haven't hit bottom yet. i've gotten pretty fucking low, but haven't really hit bottom. i wonder how much deeper this all goes. and i can restrain myself so that i can function passably at work and in social situations. but every once and a while it starts to show through. like a threadbare vintage shirt. and at home by myself i am crazed and witless. restless and neurotic as fuck. and you can't drown out your problems, no matter how loud the music is, or how much alcohol you have consumed, or how many hours you sleep. and i wish their little handbook on madness made a dent in me. i wish all the shit they talked about had hit me like a head on collision with a tree. they say none of it makes a difference unless you really want to make a change. i'm not there yet. i should be, but i'm not. there are things i want to change, but i don't deal with things like i should. over and over again. i've written all this before. it ain't no big breakthrough. i feel like maybe if i were different i would be happier, but i always have those dark clouds looming over my head. and i wish i looked like the girls in the magazines, with the far off stare and bordeaux lipstick, skinny as hell. they make dysfunction look glamorous. but i'm the real life post child for fucked-upedness. it's not glamorous. i wish it was, i would write a book about it. this is what it's like. this is what it's like when you can't concentrate for more than five minutes at a time, this is what it's like to not want to eat, this is what it's like to spill your guts to strangers, this is what it's like to be really vulnerable but pretend you aren't. this is what it's like to crack jokes about things that are jokes to others and reality to you. this is the life. i live it all the time. welcome to it. hope your temporary stay is nice, at least you get to leave. and i know what you are thinking about now. she is so emo. why can't she just be fucking happy for once? i don't know, if i did i wouldn't be like this. you give me the secret to happiness and i will give you the antidote.