* I’m considering parceling out what’s left into small little doses that I’ll use to help me taper, or, better idea, keep a little emergency dose for when I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE MAN so I can have a tiny little managed relapse instead of like, telling my dealer about how I’m doing a couple days off, a couple days on, and then asking if I can get an 🎱.
So it’s Wednesday, and you know what that means, right? No? Get fucked. Who the Hell are you anyways? Get out of my—
*blip*
So it’s Wednesday, and we all know what that means, right? Time for @allthetimesivedied@hexbear.net to make another half-assed effort to quit doing meth.
Seriously though it’s getting to the point where if I don’t quit or at least be a functioning addict I am probably going to kill myself.
And this time I’m motivating myself with…
*spins wheel*
*it stops on “The adorable 5’1” crust punk I’m sad about might talk to me again”*
*there isn’t any other thing on the wheel except for that*
But seriously though I feel disgusting and I hate myself and I want to die. So here’s hoping it works out.
Right now though I’m having kind of a really bad negative thought loop. How I lost my friend because I’m mentally ill, lonely, autistic, and unbelievably lacking in social skills; the piece or shit who narc’d on me to my friend, about how I flipped shit on him because (and this part was left out of course) he said they lead dudes on for attention, he gets to see them, because he isn’t annoying, and because he has social skills. And nothing I say or do will change anything. I need to “move on.” I can’t even find this dude and jump him because I’ve been extremely weak literally from the day I was born (congenital hypotonia) and uhh I don’t know what he looks like since it was the middle of the night when this happened. So I just have to suck it up and deal with it. Move on. Make other friends. I feel like I’m fucking insane but the pain I feel when I think that they’re gone forever is fucking real. That doesn’t fucking matter though, of course. It literally makes me want to kill myself.
But at the sam time, I hold onto this hope that they’ll talk to me again one day when I’ve gotten better. They would be happy to see that happen; they’re used to people being fucked off disappointments.