Fate is an ass.
My friends and I rent out a storage shed for our band room and we have couches in there so it's a nice place to chill. I haven't really been able to win out with myself lately, despite a few days or hours of happiness here and there, every day I wake up wondering why I'm still alive. I had been waiting quite a while for my friend to buy me a bottle of jack, I needed some liquid courage. He knows how I am, and he even asked me how I'd been doing, but I lied and told him I had been doing a lot better and hadn't been feeling down lately. Thursday comes and he has off work so between work and class I met up with him, rode down to ABC, and finally got my ticket out of here. I wasn't even feeling that bad, I'm guessing mostly because of the excitement, but I didn't want to wait another day.
Here's where I guess fate kept trying to stop things. Between classes another friend of mine was trying to get a hold of me to come chill for a bit, he had said something about it the day before but I didn't remember. It's quite hard to make an excuse to your best friend, but I told him I needed to go do a few things and he bought it. After getting the bottle I hid it in my car and decided I'd hang out for a bit, then head for the band room after class. I get out and he starts texting me if I'm out, which doesn't seem like a big deal, but he's never really the one wondering where I am. I ignore it, head for the band room, and break out the bottle. I'm not there for ten minutes and by random chance another friend of mine comes by to grab his stuff. I figured he was just gunna get going afterward but he ended up staying to hang out. I wanted to just drive away and go somewhere else, but I had already had at least 1/4 of it, and there's no way in hell I'm putting anyone else's life in danger. A few minutes later two more of my friends call my friend and he tells them to come there. They get there and inside I'm just pissed and don't care so I kept drinking. I ended up having over 1/2 of a 750ml bottle, and that's having not drank since August, being a lightweight, and not eating anything all day.
I don't recall much, I remember having an extreme hatred for my car and trying to beat the hell out of it. Even with my friends holding me back I managed to kick the front fender, rip the long trim up on the bad rear quarter, and punch the metal under my trunk lid. I couldn't walk, speak, or think in any sense of coherence, and spent most of the night crawling around puking and being walked to the bathroom. Most of my knuckles are scrapped and sore, I apparently hit my head on the pavement multiple times, I have a huge bruise on my back from laying down onto my exhaust (don't ask me how because I have no clue), and plenty of scratches from being drug along the ground.
I'm glad they all showed up, otherwise I know I wouldn't be typing this. You know you have some good friends when they're willing to take care of you in that condition. As for the point of me telling you all this, I have no clue. Like I say every time it does help a bit for me to be able to let it out, plus I like to give a little update every now and then, especially when something big happens. I know I know I need help, but the fact really is I don't want it. The part of me that wants help has been suppressed so much by the other side of me that it barely exists. The only help I want is with death, and that's the only way I see this ending. It's gotten to the point where living past 19 seems just ridiculous. Who knows though, maybe I will get some help, until then I'm just living each day.
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