This Is Depression....
- By girly-d
- On 15/10/2017
- 0 comments
I'm getting thin.
There are dark circles under my eyes, my clothes don't fit me and my hair is a mess.
I look terrible.
I don't care...
Because Little man has gone and I don't actually give two shits about anything anymore. I really just cannot be arsed. I've had enough.
I spend my mornings crying - my afternoons getting fucked in a bar. I want out of this head of mine asap and I'm doing it the only way I know how...by getting absolutely shitfaced.
I'm mixing with bad people; Or more accurately they are mixing with me. I'm not exactly hard to find. I'm knocking around in Wetherspoons most days. Same table if I can get it. Next to the plug socket so that I can charge up my phone.
Men buzz around me like flies - hover like vultures. I can't be arsed to fend them off. They take my indifference as an invitation. Offer to buy me a drink.
And of course I'm going to say yes.
They must think that it's Christmas; these men that I wouldn't look twice at if I was able to think straight. These men who know that on a good day I would be well out of their league. But it's obviously not a good day. None of my days are any more. So they move in for the kill.
I say thank you for my drinks and I listen to their bullshit and I wonder for the millionth time what I ever did that was so bad for my life to turn out this way. I sit through groundhog day counting down the hours until I've finally had enough and want to go home.
Only there is no "home".
Drinking it is then...
I don't want to live like this. It's excrutiating. I can't handle this level of madness. I'm tired and I'm ill, I miss Little man and I am so over this shit it's unreal.
A local "pillar of society" is trying to get me into bed. He's quite intimidating. When I refuse he get's nasty. I tell him to go and fuck himself. And that if he trys it again I will tell his wife. I mean it. He backs off. But there will be another him. And another. Same shit, different approach.
I'm counting the days right now. I'm drinking enough alcohol to sink a battleship. My bruises and breaks increase by the day. My body is telling me daily to please slow it down.
It's just a matter of time now.
Then I'm done with this shit.
Game over... "I'm out the door, Thank you, Goodbye".
I'll leave my review on some weird trip advisor for dead people when I reach my final destination. "Marks out of ten for the experience?" 0. Marks out of 10 for me attempting and failing miserably to keep up with this shit ? 11. Because I tried - And God loves a trier...
Anyway, at this rate I'll be meeting God much sooner than planned. I hope he's expecting me...and that he's looked after Little man.