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Day 7 3/4: Loud Straight Girls

I decided almost immediately that I was going to attack this whole being sober thing with the best attitude possible. I figure that I can't succeed if I'm feeling sorry for myself. I know that I do not live in a sober world, I'm not going to any sort of rehab where they put you in a nice bubble of only sober people where you talk about your feelings, and get a nice routine, and have lots of therapy and then get tossed out into the world like a drunk bambi grenade with the pin pulled and hope you don't explode. I just went for the whole I'm a fresh bambi thing and I need to learn to walk dammit. So I went out clubbing and to a drag show. I know I just mixed a lot of metaphors, but hear me out. Since the world, and the people around me especially, are far from sober, I know I'm going to end up in a lot of situations that aren't exactly supportive to my cause. Especially when I go back home, my core friends are all experienced alcohol connoiseurs in one way or another. They work in beer, they have extensive bourbon bars in their living rooms, they hate their jobs. Basically they're all soaked in alcohol to the point that they probably need to be careful around open flames. Luckily, where I live now, is only mildly drenched in booze. People go out for a few drinks and go home...you know, like normal people. A girl I work with is actually from back home. Which is nice, we drool over Old Bay together and laugh at the silly Southerners. And she drinks. We've never had the opportunity to drink together, and now I think we (hopefully, if I do this right) never will. But nonetheless, when I got to work on Monday, she said she had some friends from back home coming in to town and asked if I wanted to go out with them on Saturday. "Fuck yea!" Obviously I'm super appropriate at work. They started their day drinking around 3, and continued on a Trolley Pub. Which if you're unfamiliar, is one of those weird things that people sit on and pedal while a guy steers it through the streets of downtown *insert city here*. You have to pay to sit and pedal this thing, and you have to bring your own beer. That part has always confused me, but whatever. I met up with them at dinner after. There were five of them when I got there, all drunk, all sucking down sangria like it was their job, and all whining incessantly about how hungry they were. Naturally, they had all ordered philly cheesesteaks, as skinny drunk white girls tend to do. I ordered my first club soda of the night. With extra limes. The server thought he was being cute by bringing it to me with seven limes on it. Seven. Seeevveeennnnn. Joke's on him, that's heaven to me. They housed their cheesesteaks, complained about wanting mayo on the side, catcalled a truly gorgeous man as he walked through the front door, made several trips to the bathroom together, and then complained about how long the checks took. Standard drunk shit. When I arrived, the vibe was tense. My friend, who we'll call Jdubs, lives with a girl we'll call...fuck it, her name is Jen. I'll never be able to keep track of all of this if I start making shit up. They maybe have an awkward friendship at best. They didn't really know each other before Jdubs moved down here, they met through Jdubs cousin. Whose name I honestly can't remember so I'll call her Charlie. Charlie and Jen are besties. Jen also had a friend named Rita out. That's not her name, but she seems like a Rita and it's shorter than her real name. Rita is not a person I could ever handle in large doses. I was sick of her in under 3 minutes. Rita likes to shriek at random moments for no apparent reason. In her mind it's a reason, like...she's breathing air. But to the rest of the world, it's just a loud confusing noise that might make you spill your drink. She's also fond of making weird faces while she drinks through a straw, paired with turning her head slightly up and to the left, while looking at you across the table and batting her eyelashes. I don't mean she blinked a lot, I mean she cocked her head like a demented puppy and purposefully fluttered her eyelashes at me. Then there was...Lola. Ok, I'm changing names, fuck off. Lola is the best friend from back home, and barely says a word all through dinner. I wasn't sure who was upset with who at this point, but there was some definite cattiness flying around the bar. The point of the night, as I understood it, was to make it to the drag show. This is where it turns into trying to herd drunken cats, and where I start to see where the rift is. I've been with them about an hour now, and miss Lola still has yet to say more than a few words. Charlie and Jen are going on about how tired they are and how they would be more than happy to go back home and put on sweats and Harry Potter marathon it, which I am never opposed to. But this illicites a lot of side eye from Lola. We all finally get paid, and stand up to leave...and it starts pouring. So there we are, 6 girls blocking the entrance to an incredibly busy bar, and Jen and Charlie decide they want to go to a different bar first. It's a block away. We all agree, because why not, but now Jen is whining about the rain, and wants to take an Uber the block to the next bar. Charlie and I decide we're going to walk, because it's a block and we don't think it's raining THAT hard. So she and I walk out the door and start hoofing it. There's a pedicab on the sidewalk, driven by I guess a latin guy, I'm honestly not sure it was dark and I don't care. Charlie starts yelling at him "You're on the sidewalk! That's illegal!" He looks her up and down (she's quite attractive) and yells back "You're illegal!" This sends me into uncontrollable giggles, because while I knew he was commenting on how hot she is, it sounded like an elementary school comeback "no you are!" Charlie misunderstood, as drunk people do, and thought he was accusing her of calling him AN illegal, and that he in turn was now calling her an illegal. And now I have to stop laughing and babysit. In the rain. I sort it out between them and he ends up giving her a free ride down the block, which is what he was actually trying to do in the first place. Now the other girls are upset "She's married with two kids, why is SHE the one that's getting the free ride??" We make it to the next bar, and inside the divide becomes obvious. Jdubs is trying to cheer Lola up, who is in just a nasty mood, while the other three go off to the window to dance. I get myself another club soda, Jdubs goes to dance with the rest of them, and I start to follow, but soon realize oh...hey...I can't really dance, because metal ankle (that's another story for another day). I turn back and see Lola has taken a perch on the wall so I decide to go talk to her and see if we can't get her in a more festive mood. On my walk back to the wall, I see a familiar face. It's Sara! She was with me when I incurred the injury that necessitated said metal ankle, and took care of me through a lot of the process, so she's quite a good friend. And she's drunk. In 4 inch heels. I never make it to Lola, because I'm now occupied with a tiny drunken sparkle bomb, busy being introduced to the people she's out with and introdcing her to the people I'm out with. She finds out we're going to the drag show, Jdubs invites her along, and we decide it's time to go dammit! We were there maybe a half an hour. Jdubs tells Rita, and we watch Rita tell the other girls that we're leaving. They look over, shrug and keep dancing. Now, we're waiting on another coworker of mine, so we end up sitting outside for a minute waiting for her to walk to us from where ever the fuck she was. While we're sitting, I get the story. Honestly...there was no story. These bitches were just drunk. Apparently Lola thought there was some cliquey type stuff going on, and was annoyed with it all, and it seemed like the whole thing just put Jdubs in the middle of a stupid and unnecessary awkward situation. Lola was being a Petty Betty and just wasn't into letting anyone around her have a good time because of whatever perceived bullshit she had in her head. The rest of the story, other than maybe being called loud straight girls by the drag queen hosting the show, isn't even important. It was just a lot of more of the same. Now, why did I just go through all of that mundane night out drivel? Because it gave me a silver lining to being the sober drunk bus driver. I drove all of them home except Rita (thankfully) and had to listen to them go on and on in loud drunk voices about all the things that happened that night that were annoying. Almost none of the things that happened in their minds actually happened that way. I was there. I watched it all. I was sober. I remember it all very clearly. And it made a few things very clear to me. I'm glad that I wasn't that person last night. I'm glad that I wasn't too drunk, I'm glad I didn't spend too much money, I'm glad I wasn't involved in the petty perceived drama. I'm glad I didn't get on stage and twerk in front of my coworkers, or fall down like a few of them did (not twerking, not on stage) in front of everyone. I'm glad I didn't make a fool of myself and then have to wonder what they thought about how I behaved the next day. Even though I knew this, I was a bartender for years and being a drunk for more years, it reminded me how easily the world gets skewed when you're fucked up. How differently your mind works, how differently your emotions react to situations, how differently you perceive things. Your thought processes change, your filter that says "man, that just isn't right, don't think that, DON'T SAY THAT" is somehow removed. I had a great time. I really did. We had a blast. But I wasn't in any way upset that I wasn't drinking with them. I wasn't upset that I wouldn't be able to get up and go for my standing Sunday walking date because I was nursing a hangover, or that I'd be eating a bunch of food I shouldn't be eating because the alcohol makes you crave certain things. Glad. I am so glad.

[littlemissrio-blog]

Help

All I can think to say is "Help." Except I can't ask for help, so here I am. I was working on another post, one about my excursion as a sober person to the bars last night, but I got hit hard with a wave of sadness I can't seem to shake. If I can't sleep, as usual, maybe I'll finish that one and get that out too. For now....just listen to me whine. I'm in the middle of two significant struggles in my life right now. Everyone has their struggles, I think that's why I don't feel comfortable relying on anyone else just yet for help. Mine seem standard, cliche, I did them to myself and probably don't deserve anyone's help or sympathy. At least that's how they feel. I'm trying to reconcile them, figure out where exactly I am in them, figure out how to articulate them to other people. One of my biggest issues as a person is general, is I become overwhelmed with words. Not as in verbal diarrhea. Although I definitely have that problem too. As in, when I feel something very intensely, it's as if I can see a cloud of words in my mind, all of the complicated mixture of feelings that I'm feeling, all at once. I can't pull a single one out to articulate. I can't focus on one to process it. PAINFEARSADANXIOUSTEARSOUCHHELPLOVESCAREDPLEASEHELP They all flood at once. Word after word, feeling after feeling. And it shuts me down. Completely. So I don't say anything. And then I explode, but I explode all the words at once and it doesn't make sense to anyone, not even me. And I say every wrong thing, and I don't explain how I'm feeling properly, and I think that because I have a picture in my mind that what I'm saying paints that picture. But it never does. I look back later and it's never the right picture. I never made it to the right point, never the main point. I always say something else, and it's infuriating. Since I struggle to articulate, and become overwhelmed, I often don't say anything. Or I think...I don't know what I think. That the person I ask for help will think it's stupid, or that they're tired of dealing with me. And this is where I am now. I've talked to one friend about my two struggles. The main one is being sober. This is the hardest one for me to talk about. I still don't know how I feel. It's so huge, it's taking so long for me to process. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to say to myself. If I don't know what to say to myself, how can I say anything to anyone else? But I asked her if she could talk, and she called me. I made her tell me stories about nothing for nearly 20 minutes before I worked up the nerve to even hint at what I needed to talk to her about. I don't remember what I said. All I remember is as soon as I opened my mouth, the tears came pouring out instead of words. I remember that as soon as I started talking, I didn't seem to be able to stop it. I told her all the things I had been keeping to myself. That every Friday, I go out for sushi and wine. I drink a bottle at dinner, and then drive to a friend's house and drink another bottle and then drive home like it's nothing. That I've been drinking so much liquor my stomach is bleeding again. I can't go to happy hour without having at least 4 or 5 drinks, and of course driving home. Because I can't be the girl who was "too drunk" and because getting an Uber is money I don't want to spend, and then I'll have to get back to my car to get to work in the morning. Because naturally, I drink pretty much every day so this would be a daily hassle. And naturally, I need a bedtime drink to put me to sleep, so I stop at the gas station on the way home and buy myself a couple of 2 for $3 beers to drink in 45 minutes or less, because it's past my bedtime, and I have a schedule to keep. At least...I think this is what I said. In my mind, these are the things I didn't have the courage to tell anyone, ever, so they were the things I needed to say to make it real. Maybe all I did was sob and tell her I was a drunk and an addict and I needed to be sober. I do know I didn't go into the details about the "addict" as a differentiation, but it was enough of a start that I felt relieved. I asked her not to tell anyone, that I wasn't ready to talk about it with other people. I can barely figure it out in my own mind still, I'm definitely not ready to make the announcement to the world yet. It's a funny thing, trying to figure out how much of an addict you are. When I list out the things I do, it's obvious in the rational part of my brain. These are the things that other people do that make me worry over them constantly and use them as warning stories to others, but when I do them...it's just my nature. It's just how I am in my mind, it's just...it just is. So there's a part of my brain that pipes up and says "No, no, no you're not a drunk. You aren't an addict. You're fine. You're overreacting. You're being dramatic. You just want attention, stop being ridiculous." I never fully understood this voice until now. I had an idea of it, but I couldn't comprehend the inner dialogue and how convincing it can be until right now. Now I know why they use former addicts as counselors. You can't understand it until you've had the conversations with yourself. This whole being a sober person thing has it's own set of new and exciting issues. We all know by now that I don't sleep. I sleep even less now. I have to relearn how to do all of my favorite things, because all of my favorite things I've always thought were made better by drinking or being fucked up in general. In reality, I think I'm doing pretty ok with the sober part. I feel much more like myself, the version of myself that I love. I don't have the ridiculous mood swings, or anger that I've never really ever had but suddenly pops up when I'm drunk. I feel much more clear headed, I don't feel overwhelming sadness all the time like I did before. I would drink when I felt anxious especially, but weirdly enough that anxiety level has dropped immensely and it doesn't really pop up all that often. I have plenty of habits to break and new routines to get used to, but all in all I can honestly say I feel so much better. Until...I miss my friend. This is my second major struggle, and they come hand in hand. I've lost my best friend, because I was a drunken asshole. I mean, asshole to a level that I have never achieved. In a way I can't comprehend. I was completely terrible to a person who has never been anything but good to me. Ok, maybe not anything but good, but every struggle that we've had as friends he's made huge leaps to "fix." Looking back on some of the things I was so upset about, I can pinpoint a moment in my own life that was wrong with me, but I took it out on him, and yet he still adjusted for me. I've been going over and over the things I said, and I can't figure out why I would say any of them. He's had his own struggles, and in reality all I've ever done is love him and want the best for him. In my heart, I do nothing but cheer for him, and know how amazing and capable he is, and I literally smile from ear to ear when he accomplishes something or overcomes a hurdle that's been put in his way. But in my mouth, I seem to hold nothing but gasoline and matches meant only to set our friendship on fire. And that's what I did. I don't know why. I don't have an explanation for it. All I have is that I was drunk, and I was hurting about something else, and instead of leaning into him like I should have, I did everything I could to make him leave me. Maybe I was feeling one of those "poor me, everyone leaves me" bullshit things that happen sometimes. I was grieving the one year anniversary of the death of someone very important to me. And then I drank. I drank a lot. And then I drove home. And I got up the next day and started drinking and I drank all day and I lost my shit. And with my shit, I lost the most important person in my life. So, now I'm grieving him too. I can say that I would not be in the position of getting sober if it hadn't happened. I do know that it's a fucked up silver lining. I would have killed someone. I would have killed myself. I would have ended up in jail. I've probably already killed my liver. I know that my body and the weight that I seem to struggle with are taking huge hits because of it. And I'm trying to be thankful for this moment, this clarity, the feeling level headed and normal again. But Jesus Fucking Christ, I need my friend. I know that I need to give him space. And that he's done with me and we'll never be friends again because I've done so much damage. And he probably won't say that I have, because I can admit that there are moments that I miss him so intensely that I send him messages because I seem to lack that impulse control. But I have tried. So hard. I've taken to turning my phone off at night and when I'm at work and leaving it in my car so that I don't have access to it and can't beg him to tell me why he ghosted me. I do understand him being upset with me. I would be upset with me too. I have a harder time understanding how he can just completely cut off the level of friendship we had like it didn't mean anything. Maybe that's his way of dealing with it. In my mind....my anxious, twisted mind...he doesn't think about me anymore. I don't exist to him, he's already forgotten me and doesn't care about me at all and never will again. I know that's probably not true. I hope it's not true. Not because I want him to hurt too. I would give anything to take all of the pain he's been feeling lately for him. I know that I caused him pain, more pain than anyone has any right to, so that statement probably sounds like bullshit. But I would do anything to take his pain away. Take this pain away. But I hope it's not true, because that would mean that I meant so little to him. I don't think it's true because I know him. I know how deeply he feels things, how important things are to him, how hard he worked to overcome things and show me that I was important to him and that he loved me. And then I set it on fire. And that's on me. And it kills me every day. So here I am. Tonight I couldn't take it. I missed him so much. There were so many funny pictures and articles I read today, so many inside jokes I wanted to send him and the sun went down and I couldn't take it. My friend was in bed, I couldn't call her. Besides, if I set my mind on something, there's no way she could have talked me out of it. She told me I should write things down. All the things I want to tell him. So that's what I've been doing. This is not that. That is a much different list. A list of all of the things I should have listened to when he told me, all the things I regret, all the things I wish I hadn't said, all the things that make him amazing, all the things that make him the most beautiful sould I've ever seen in my life. I write them down so I don't bother him with them. I'll probably never get to say them to him, but I write them down. So I got up, I went to the gas station. Watched the drunk guy in front of me fumble with his dollar bills. My heart hurt so bad I puked in my parking lot, but I stood there and ignored the 2 for $3 beers calling to me just feet behind me. I bought a pack of cigarettes. I did not pick up my phone and send him a text. I came back here and wrote this down. Hopefully I can continue to avoid the texting, give him the space away from me he needs and probably deserves. I don't have a witty ending for this. I am a human who is struggling, and right now I'm happy with how I'm doing. I'm definitely not perfect, and I'm not nailing all of it. But I'm definitely doing at least 92% better than I was 9 days ago.

[littlemissrio-blog]

Anxiety: THIS IS TOO MUCH!!!!

Me: What is too much?

Anxiety: THIS

Me: I am literally sitting at home doing nothing. My only obligation this evening is to take out the trash. Work went well today. What exactly is the problem????

Anxiety: EVERYTHING IS HAPPENING ALL AT ONCE

Me: But nothing is happening?

Anxiety: TOO MUCH

[littlemissrio-blog]

I’m so detached and distant and cold at times, but I swear if you spark my interest, I can become so clingy and you’ll become so important to me and I will put so much of my time and effort towards you. But then you’ll get tired of me.

[littlemissrio-blog]

Houses as Classmates

Gryffindor: Those witty classmates who always have a sarcastic comment for those annoying people who couldn't care less about school because the bs is too much for them to take silently.

Hufflepuff: The friend who you may not have seen in forever but will pick things up with no hesitation as long. The honest and hardworking ones who hate cheaters. Especially the ones who brag about how good they are at cheating.

Ravenclaw: The ones who hate group projects because they're simultaneously bitter over doing all the work but also reluctant to give any work to anyone else because you really can't trust them.

Slytherin: The ones who seem to not be able to be bothered to do anything but they're actually balancing everything at once and just trying to make it through and please everyone even though they're tearing themselves apart sometimes.

[littlemissrio-blog]

Chris Pratt dressed as a slutty cat for halloween. Obvi.

with all of these movie reboots i would like to pitch a mean girls reboot staring Chris Evans, Chris Pine, Chis Hemsworth, and Chris Pratt

[littlemissrio-blog]

imagine being the first amish bitch in your village to like get your body done like ass shots titties done and like beat face contoured… and then you walked into like the saloon or whatever amish people have and everyone dropped their irish fiddles and was shookedt? like everyone churning butter was just in shock and you walked across the artisanal wood floors in your wantmylook.com thigh high lace up heeled boots like your life depended on it… yes god

[littlemissrio-blog]

Literally my life

There are only four rules you need to remember.

[littlemissrio-blog]

Exactly how I imagined if the Doctor had a desk job.

[littlemissrio-blog]

I recently acquired a vacuum sealer for food i csnt eat in the same week i buy it and i got so excited soooo....

undefined

[littlemissrio-blog]

"Supposed to"

This concept of "supposed to" has been on my mind alot. I'm sure this isn't a new thought to a lot of people. It isn't a new thought to me. I've had a hard time with "supposed to" my entire life. I've always been a "why" person. If someone tells me I'm supposed to do something, I want to know why. Especially if it doesn't make sense to me. I spent a lot of years doing things my own way, never really worrying about what I was "supposed to" do. It worked for me. I got things done. In fact, I got more done than most. I still get more done than most. Enter...what shall I call them? I'll think of something. In the meantime, enter two back to back boyfriends who were all about "supposed to." I may or may not delve into why I loved them later. For now, let's focus on their rules. They were different in a lot of ways, except they both had very solid ideas on how things were "supposed to" be. I tend not to focus on these things. I've found that in life there are a lot of ways to make a burger, but for them, there only ever seemed to be one way. If I liked bacon and avocado, I was wrong because they didn't like avocado. I fucking love avocado by the way, because I am an OG Basic Bitch. They liked their burgers with mayo and onions, both of which I hate. But that's how they liked their burgers, and they'd tell me all the reasons why it was the only way to eat a burger, and I would think "they're just condiments, what's the big deal? If it makes them happy, I'll eat the tupid mayo and onions and it'll grow on me." I'm obviously using a terrible metaphor here, but whatever, just work with me. Go ahead and translate this into the rest of life. In my mind, small things like that are worth compromising on for the person I love. We all want to please the people we're with, and I tend to be accommodating. I don't mind, as I'm sure most people don't. I figure, I'll just eat my avocados on my own time. Until it turned into a fight when they found out I ate the avocado. Which never really made sense to me, but to avoid the fight I'd stop eating avocados altogether. Which is where it turns into a problem. I'm no longer compromising, I'm changing things I shouldn't have to. Let's talk about bedtime, for example. I really don't sleep. It's never been a thing that I do. They were both incredibly structured. Now, when I say structured, I mean...do as they say, not as they do. Because all of these "supposed to" items were things they wouldn't actually do...all the time. So they'd be upset with me for doing them, while they were doing them. By the way, if you bring this to their attention they get really upset and do things like lock you in closets, but that's another story for another day. Back to bedtime. I don't sleep. I am an early riser as well as a night owl. By the way...shouldn't they just be called owls? Owls are nocturnal creatures, calling them Night Owls seems reduntant...That friend I miss so much used to call me the "Sleepless Elite." I'm not really sure what's "elite" about it, I'd give anything to sleep like he does. He said that the Sleepless Elite only had to sleep a few hours a night. Whatever you call it, that's me. So I sit in bed hoping to get tired. I watch things, I listen to things, I read things, I scroll things....I do things waiting to fall asleep. Well, these closed minded narrow thinking morons I dated seemed to be under the impression I couldn't be a successful adult without going to bed at a normal time. Waking up at a normal time. Working out at the same time every day. Eating my meals at the same time every day. Doing things on the same schedule every week. They were really into their schedules. SUPER into schedules. I hate schedules, I do things when I want to do them and honestly never really have a plan, and it seemed to stress them both out a lot. Laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning, walking the dog, homework, getting gas....it all happened at the same time on the same day every week. It was mind numbing. Once I was traveling with one and we were in the longest line ever waiting to get on the plane...legitimately the entire plane was in line ahead of us and they had JUST opened the gate and I decided to run to the bathroom to pee real quick...because I looked five feet to my right and saw a bathroom and decided I'd rather pee there than on a plane. He didn't talk to me the rest of the trip home. Said I could have made us miss the flight. Meanwhile, in the time it took me to pee...I came back out and he had barely moved 5 feet up in the line. This is the kind of structure I was up against. So I tried to settle into schedules. Bed at the same time every night, being awake at the same time every day...you get the idea. Nearly three years between the two of them of schedules. So I had this voice in my head of "supposed to." The second one wasn't as bad, we just weren't compatible and we stayed friends after we broke up. But the "supposed to" was still prevalent. Because me, being the super smart human that I am, retained his services as my trainer. And where do you get more instruction on what you're "supposed to" be doing than from your ex-boyfriend who knows all of your habits and is telling you how to improve upon something? Nowhere. That's where. Absolutley fucking nowhere. Fast forward to now. I haven't slept really in days. For a number of reasons. At first it was because I'd lost my friend and it gutted me. I'm still gutted by it, so it really doesn't help the sleeping situation. But now I'm sober too, so I really don't sleep. I was awake for something like 22 hours yesterday and came home from dropping off all the drunks and just sat on my back deck humming to myself. Humming. To. Myself. Somewhere around night one or two of my experiment in sobriety, I was wandering around my house (I have a lot of energy when I'm sober, it's part of the reason I get fucked up, I just don't know what to do with all the moving around when I run out of things to do with my hands) and I realized what time it was. It was after 9. AT NIGHT! And I wasn't in bed yet. This is not what I was "supposed to" do! I am a grown up, I am supposed to be in bed already! And then a thought creeped in. "I'll just go sit in bed and watch TV. It's not like I'm going to get any sleep anyway, so it doesn't matter what time I get into bed." It...doesn't...matter. Those three little words. Those words that popped a cork pressure had been building behind for years. I stopped wandering and took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. I have no idea why, honestly. That seems like a weird thing to do when you have an epiphany, but really what is the appropriate epiphany response? Should I have clicked my heels and yelled Eureka? Phoned a friend? Smacked my own ass? They all seem weird to be honest. If you're me, and you don't sleep, and you still get up and get to work on time and do your job well and manage to not look like a homeless person while you're doing all of this...then why does it matter what time you go to bed? It doesn't. It doesn't matter. IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER. I've been repeating this to myself a lot lately. And it's been glorious. I've found so many things that I've been doing under the guise of "supposed to" that I absolutely fucking hate. And I've stopped doing them. And started doing them how I want. Doing them my way again. Obviously there is a point where it would probably be better if I slept more. Which is a different issue. That falls under "should" because it might be healthier, not "supposed to" because I'm an adult. Although my googling has informed me that in fact, there are some people who simply don't need as much sleep as others, and my used to be friend may have been right. I may be in some club of weirdos who were probably the inspiration for Vampire and Zombie stories. Because honestly, trying to fill 20 hours a day with something that uses up all of my energy takes me to some weird places. But fuck, at least now I remember how to do it my way, not the way I'm "supposed to."

[littlemissrio-blog]

It is quite unbelievable that there will be people that I will love unconditionally that I have not met yet. Somewhere out there, in a supermarket or singing in the shower, there are souls that have not touched mine yet but will, eventually.

// The Skies We’re Under j.d.m. (via poetryandthesea)

[littlemissrio-blog]

7 Days

It's funny. Funny that I open this little blog from so long ago and the most recent post is about a guy I used to know. A guy from a life I only remember in flashes who died of an overdose on Christmas Eve. (Yes, I deleted some other posts...a lot of other posts....because I wanted to. It's my tumblr, I do what I want.) It's funny, because today is day 7. My seventh day of sobriety. Somehow saying day 7 but not 7th day seems to work better in my mind, I don't know why. I'm typing on my new tablet. A tablet I decided I needed because now I'm sober. And nothing makes my mind quiet. I lost my best friend in the fray of fuck-upedness. He was the only thing that could keep me calm, and now I don't sleep. I never slept, that was half of my issue, I was always searching for sleep and quiet. So now I don't sleep, and I wander the house with all of these thoughts. So I decided it was time to do what I've been threatening to do for years and write them all down. So here I am. On day 7. On my little keyboard connected to my little tablet. Threatening the zero people who pay attention to me with telling them all about myself.