Diego wrote:It's been eleven days. I think all my characters are going to die, because I was mugged on a bus while drunk and on acid and no longer have my phone, and I don't sit down in the studio frequently enough to maintain a character. I'll miss a couple of them. I turned nineteen on July 8. The festivities extended from July 6 until the 13. I did more LSD than I thought possible, too much blow, some ecstacy, enough pot, too much alcohol, way too many prescription pills. No heroin. She didn't do any, either. In fact, she detoxed and burned off the withdrawal partying with me for my birthday. We slept in each other's arms every time we caught any sleep that week. Which wasn't that much, truth be told. But now we're dating, and God, I couldn't be more overjoyed. This is my first sincere, regular relationship. She's almost 24, a gifted artist and photographer and designer. A muse. So much has evaporated in the past few weeks. I've been in a sort of hypomanic state for so long. Creativity is burning, steaming, exploding. I can't stop writing once I start. I can't stop painting or drawing. Inhale the world, exhale the beauty. I'm leaving for a month this summer, I don't know where we're going, but wherever it is, I'm sure it'll be improvised on the go and absurdly awesome. In the meantime she continues to attend her photography classes and I'm about to start a short course on writing screenplays, working on polishing my French, working on my drawing technique. I've no idea where my life will be six months from now, a year from now, five years from now. And I'm very, very excited.Diego wrote:I don't know what to do with this girl, or what I am doing with her, or what she'll do with me. I don't know if I'll relapse my cocaine habit, because I've used, but avoiding the addict patterns, but yesterday felt a lot like the old days, on my own in my room, nothing but the next line on my mind and the aftertaste of self-disgust masked by chemical euphoria. I don't know how long it's been since I showed up for my psychologist's appointment, I've put it off at least several weeks. I don't know how I'll tell him that I tried heroin, resumed occasional cocaine use and got my heart broken without him thinking I'm unstable. I don't know if I am stable, as a matter of fact.
I hate not knowing.
I can say no more than that I am very glad to hear such a thing.
Rant;
I hate it when five very short reactions have been given while I took the time to write one in detail, nicely worked out.
Whoever it is needs to stop it--it's making my clocks go all wonky. It went from 11:30 to 2:00 in ten minutes, when stuff was actually happening. I'm beginning to suspect someone's doing it on purpose, just to spite me.
Me too!
