Yada, Yada, Yada, Masturbation or some shit

So I didn’t post yesterday (For me, that’s Halloween) so, uh . . . happy late Halloween. I was up out of the house at ten in the morning and I’ve only stopped right now, right at this very moment, as I sit on my computer at 2:12am, November first.

Now, I’m not a perfect person by any means. You all know that I advocate strong will, confidence, acceptance of self and body and yada yada yada, hippie shit, whatever. Well, I also like to party. Well . . . not party too hard. But I do like to enjoy myself. And I started at about five pm and from then on I’ve either been stoned out my eyeballs, or drinking.

If you’ve read even a sixteenth of my posts, you probably know my father is an alcoholic and you’re probably sitting there calling me a dumbass and that’s totally fine, you’re entitled to your opinion. But I don’t get drunk. I’ve always told myself from the time I was young that I’d never touch the stuff, but the truth is I will and I’ve known that since my first sip of vodka. Had a few mixed drinks (I don’t remember, Crown Royal mixed with some shit, Malibu Coconut something, then another was some kind of french something with Hennessy and was there a third type? I don’t remember, whatever), had an interesting drink that was both beer and Tequila–I actually liked it, almost like a sparkling cider taste . . . but with alcohol and not cidery. I don’t know, I suck at explaining things. I’m fucking deader than a dead horse right now.

Seriously, poke me with a stick. Do it.

So as you can fucking imagine, I’m tired as shit. Like I said, I didn’t get drunk, just a little happy, tipsy (I wasn’t gulping shit down like it would save my life) and I keep laughing because I can remember one of our conversation topics was masturbation but I don’t remember what it was about masturbation. Something about porno. I don’t know man, talking about objects or something . . . humping shit or something.

Squinting at the screen does not jog memory . . . dully noted.

You’re also probably thinking: Oh God, be careful, setting parameters for yourself doesn’t mean you’re going to follow them. I know, I know, I know. Give me a break. I may stay up late almost every night of the year, but I only stay up doing this shit once, maybe twice a year. It’s always been that way. Yada, yada, be careful, I get it, I get it. I know. I’m young and dumb. I KNOW.

But like I said, I don’t go crazy. I’m not smoking meth in a sewer pipe and downing gallons of vodka with my pet rat charlie who sits on my shoulder and doesn’t actually exist.

I did just try to backspace a typo on my computer with my phone so . . .I should probably get some sleep.

But, before I do that, I must leave you with this: The first bathroom in my county in any school that accepts “all genders” :

Don’t see how being disabled in a wheelchair is a gender but . . . I guess they tried?

It’s at my former high school. It used to only be for wheel chaired people, or otherwise disabled people, so . . . maybe they didn’t want them to feel left out and just slapped their plaque on there.

I don’t know. I’m going my ass to sleep.

I ate so much food.

So.

Much.

Food.

Dear High School: I Never Loved You

Does anyone ever feel like they forget what depression feels like?

That’s my current mood.

I tried studying for my test tomorrow (today by the time I post this shit) but there are more things to remember than to study. You either get it or you don’t; there’s no half getting it. I feel like if I can do integration and physics and approximations I can do some fucking conversion factors in chemistry. It’s not like rocket science over here. It’s like taking algebra all over again. This is what I get for skipping chemistry in high school to go get high in the park.

I’m dead serious; I have to start from the beginning with this shit, significant figures and all. The first week of the class was learning how to add numbers. He did a ten minute explanation on the scientific method. Fuck me, dude.

If there’s anything I’m mad at my social anxiety for, it’s for getting me so far behind in school in my earlier years. I couldn’t do math because I couldn’t ask questions, I never did presentations in my science classes (so I often got dinged majorly), and although I took college level classes I was basically mute. I did well on tests and exams. That’s basically what I went to school for: to take exams, quizzes, and watch movies.

I remember the first friend I kind of made my freshman year. She came from a private school over the hill and we were both in “Intensive English”. If you have social anxiety disorder, you may experience a phenomenon where you can literally “sniff” out people you’re able to talk with. I’ve been able to do that since I was in first grade. These were people I instantly felt comfortable speaking with. It happened again freshman year, and sophomore year. Three people I’ve felt absolutely comfortable talking to in my life within the first ten minutes of meeting them.

Anyway, this girl was incredibly smart. She spoke well and I wrote well. We had physical education together and there I met a few other people, reluctantly, through her. We were never all “friends” but they were people I could talk with during class so I didn’t look like a complete loner. We drifted apart junior year; she was much more social.

Instead, I stayed with some friends from middle school. We were the last true “goth/emo/rock” kids of our generation, I swear by it. We were in all black with the chains, the wrist bands, the dyed hair cut halfway over our face, and we headbanged during break. I still love metal, although I’ve since dropped the fashion statement. It gets too hot. I’d also look like a jackass at my school; I’m already paranoid people are constantly staring at me.

I sucked ass in algebra. I mean literally, I sucked ass. I carried a fat donkey with me to class and sucked on it. That’s how bad I was. The teacher also sucked ass. He got a pink slip within his first year of teaching because the average of his class ranged about 50%. So, we all got F’s. Except maybe two people. Fuck those two people.

My few friends (literally, three) moved away after freshman year. I had one left.

My second math teacher was young, hilarious, sarcastic as fuck, and not too bad on the eyes either. He had anger issues. I went on a field trip to a college once  and came back to learn his entire class was scarred for life because some kid spit-balled on the brand new projector in the room and the teacher blew up on him, screamed about how the class was lazy, how we didn’t even try, how mentally challenged monkeys out-performed us on a test for shapes.

Just kidding about the monkey part. I’m sure he thought that in his head.

Anyway, he went into anger management and started taking days off to go out on his boat. He’d say “I won’t be here tomorrow, I’m going out on my boat”.

In his defense, our classes were pretty . . . inattentive.

Last I heard, him and his wife had a falling through and he fell into a major depression. He always gave me breaks on my homework because I was so quiet and timid and stupid and probably looked like a complete jackass; I’m determined to show him, one day, how far I’ve come in math. It’d probably make him faint.

I couldn’t multiply 9 x 8 in my head people, that’s how bad I was.

So social anxiety ruined my high school career. I had no friends, no joy, no happiness. I failed in subjects I could have easily excelled in and now I have to pay for it by sitting through 5 hours of chemistry with fucking Miniature Michael J Fox with a bad case of Howie Mendel OCD. He really is obsessive, I’m not using that as an adjective.

Sophomore year my one friend started hanging out with a freshmen with a bad reputation. They skipped class all the time. I called them fucking idiots.

Junior year, I skipped the majority of my classes . . .

 . . . but with smarts. I asked around in my AVID (a college prep course; only course I knew people in) class about how they calculated who got detention and who didn’t. Through a few other master skippers I learned how they counted days, weeks, and months, and how many skips you were allowed to get in a week and a month before they contacted your parents. If you managed to stay below that number, your parents never found out.

So I planned accordingly. I was really quite sneaky. I have to be: I’m always supposed to be smart and perfect and quiet and passive. When I need a little danger, I have to be a ninja.

I just hated school. The people saw me as an idiot, I was too nervous around my teachers for them to ever help me, I couldn’t make any friends on my own, and I woke up every morning at 4:30am so I could calm myself down until 7 am.

I never got involved in heavy drugs and I never will. But I was an avid marijuana smoker. I hit it before class, between class, after class, and if I was out at night, I’d do it at night. I brought vodka to school in water bottles which I sipped in class.

One morning I arrived extra early at my friends house. We often walked to school together. Her parents were always gone so I’d go in the back yard while she got ready and smoked until it was time to go. It took her a little over an hour one morning and by the time I walked with her and her other friend, I was floating so high I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. I kept packing and lighting, packing and lighting, packing and lighting, non-stop. I walked my bike with them because I couldn’t ride it without falling. On the street I started laughing. They kind of laughed. My vision had turned into a fish eye lens. All the sound around me muted beside the soft thumping of my heart and I no longer existed. I asked them over and over again “dude . . . you guys, is this reality? I’m serious, no, I’m serious, is this reality?”

I remember they kept telling me it was but they weren’t convincing me. I just kept laughing. I ran into the walls in art class, almost tipped over the printing press in art class, and my table in art class could smell the stench from my backpack. People weren’t snitches at my high school, though, because we were all in the same boat. I sold weed to people, they gave weed to me, and that was my greatest connection to most people. By the middle of the day I was fucking done. I skipped math and slept out on the bleachers.

Every once in a while I still smoke, but eh, who gives a shit. I stopped public drinking and smoking when I turned 18 because I didn’t want my financial aid revoked if a cop ever charged me with something. None of it really helped my anxiety anyway.

I think what inspired me to do this post is that whenever I get like this, whenever I get “happy” or I’m up for a while or I just feel like I’m clawing to get out of my skin, I think about those times. I think about all the contacts I had with people who popped X  and Xanax on the daily and people who snorted cocaine after school. I think about how good I feel right now and how much better I’d feel with them.

If I wasn’t writing this post I’d be texting that one friend and saying bro, we need to find some shit to do, something to drink, let’s party, fuck this shit!

Because that’s how I feel right now. I need to party. I need to say FUCK EVERYTHING and celebrate this moment of feeling good for once. I don’t want it to go away.

I end up wishing my friend didn’t have a job so I could go out with her tonight, smoke up my car, toss back some shots, and stroll through downtown causing havoc. Fuck, that sounds like so much FUN. Maybe she is awake?

I end up wishing my boyfriend would drink with me and party and smoke and we too could stroll through downtown causing havoc. He tried a packed edible on an empty stomach and has been turned off of marijuana since.

I feel like partying is the RIGHT thing to do. It’s not like I’m shooting heroin or cocaine or binge drinking.

I’m sick of being depressed all the time and now that I’m not, now that I’m back, that I’m free, I can’t even embrace it.

Fuck this.