You're slipping again, Caleb. Here you sit, in the middle of the night, it's going to be the morning, and you still have done nothing, the only thing keeping you up is Hamilton. The hunger pangs are starting to set in. It's been a while since you've done this. An all nighter? Impressive. Good job. What for? Nothing. Absolutely nothing, you're lying there in bed, doing nothing but write down this. At least you changed into pajamas and took out your contacts this time. You're not completely useless. It's hot, your legs are getting just a little sweaty underneath your sheets. You sleep with you socks on? Weird. Always were.
"You should all be taking care of yourself." Dr. Roberts said that at the last practice, and it stuck to you. You know why? Because you don't take care of yourself, it's like you take enjoyment in deliberately and slowly killing yourself. You can't say this is healthy. I need to be Joe. Joe wouldn't do this. Dr. Roberts is nice, I'm sure she would be concerned. I'm going to be weird tomorrow, not enough sleep, and I could have fixed it too, stopped slipping, if I had just given up at 11 like I usually do and just went to sleep. But you didn't. At most you can get 3 hours of sleep. At most. If you went right now. Which you won't.
You know, you have to drive tomorrow? You're putting other people at risk doing this. Asshole, deserved the speeding ticket. Not only driving, you have class. You need sleep to function. You have to function in class to look good to the teachers. Not to mention the homework you still haven't done. You want to talk about something incredibly stupid? You could be an incredible Joe, you were inspired, but instead you wasted it and here we are. Today's rehearsal will be shit. Same for the next few, this will affect you for a while. You could be amazing if you put yourself towards something.
Is it an addiction? An addiction to not trying? I think they call it laziness, but that just sounds so negative. What about chronic laziness? Sounds like something a shrink would say, I like it. Chronic laziness. Hello, I'm Caleb Zwiernikowski, and I've been suffering from chronic laziness for the past two years of my life. "I don't think you're lazy." Oh really? Let me prove you wrong. I don't even have to go that far back. I didn't turn in any summer work. 3 zeros. 3. On big project grades. I don't think there's a single person back at Chapman who can claim they didn't do any school work over the summer. Well, they're there. They're the bad ones, the people who don't do any homework, get zeros and late grades on everything, the people destined to suffer through life for years before finally carving a spot for themselves in either a air conditioner salesman job or some equally contributing job in society. Caleb the air conditioner salesman. I think I could definitely pull it off, my skills wouldn't be entirely wasted.
I wish I could get wasted. Okay, that sounded way too, just, whatever. I wish I had a good coping mechanism, you know? My current one is literally ignoring the problem and freezing up, refusing to take a side. I don't fall asleep and give up, protecting my body, or stay up and push through my homework and studying, protecting my grades. I've found my own special little spot where I can kill both my grades and my body in one single action of inactivity. I chose not to choose. My body hates me for all this. It can join my brain, which has hated me off and on for a while. Right now? I just pity me. Ha, self pity, it's intoxicating. I'll do whatever it takes to get somebody to care about me, even if that somebody is me, and I only get my pity. I'm sure that's a great Pandora's Box right there.
Right, I was telling you why I'm lazy. I don't practice lines at all at home, even if I really should, they deserve the attention. I hate this house, I never feel safe talking to myself, practicing lines here, but that's no excuse. What about how I don't study for any quizzes, I just hope that my brain can get me through them. And it does! I'm so naturally good at short term memory, test taking skills, and dumb luck, that I can do well on quizzes that others spend hours studying for and still do bad on. Dumb luck and genetics, definitely something to feel blessed for.
Dating somebody? I could. It would be easy. For somebody who grew up telling all the "forever alone" jokes, it feels like I have my pick of whoever I could want. The long distance one? The constantly sexual one? The loud mom one? One? I'm using the word "one" to describe all of these amazing women? Sickening. Truth is, I'm not ready for a relationship. At least, not in my mind. Firstly, I don't feel that spark with any of them. The spark that just tells you, yeah. She's who you want to have next to you right now. Secondly, I look for too much in a relationship. I kinda want somebody to help fix me, comfort me, I want to talk to a person at 3 fucking 54 in the morning and not a stupid wall of text. Is that too much to ask? Maybe? I wouldn't know, I'm no expert, and everybody has different opinions. Maybe just getting in a relationship would be good for me. Having somebody, a body to hold. A ear to talk to. A shoulder to cry on.
Ha, right.
You want a friend, Caleb, but you won't open yourself up enough to anybody to let that happen. I want a connection. "You can only have that kind of connection with yourself." Maybe if I keep telling other people that, I'll start believing it myself. I just hurt so much. It's a deep hurt, it doesn't rest on the surface, it exists in crevices, memories, and fears that I don't even know exist. Issues with my family, myself, Scholars.
I want a magic fix, something I feel we all want. But that doesn't happen. I want a connection with someone so I can break down my barriers so I can make a connection with someone, ad infinitum. I don't know. That's my main emotion, feeling, thought. I. Don't. Know. Maybe I'm supposed to break before I can be fixed, maybe it's religious. Maybe I shouldn't have been made so stubborn that I refuse to break. I will bend and bend and bend until I'm dying and still I will never break, I'll just slowly waste away.
I kinda want somebody to read this. I bet I'll tell somebody about it eventually. Hopefully sooner rather than later so I can get all this off my chest. Even though this isn't even anything major, it's scattered ramblings that scrape the surface of my psyche. As if I even understand myself. As if this isn't absolutely pathetic. I doubt many other people are up this late typing up depressing stream of conscious journal entries. Don't I feel special.
In reality, I'm breaking, and right now I'm asking for a stick. Please, I'm slowly killing myself, this isn't healthy, I need to protect myself from me, and I'm not asking for deliverance, I just want a stick to continue fighting the thoughts with. Please, just a stick, that's all I want, a person to be my stick, the reason I fight.
This isn't good, I'm getting desperate. I don't need to be searching out this person, that's how I'll attract the wrong person. I don't need to consider dating anybody. No, not her. She could help. No. You don't have to date her, just get to know her better, hang out with her more. No, no, no, you've been warned about her, you're tired, she is not who you need. You need love. Self love. Ha, have fun trying to get me to accept that. Ugh, I'm going to have to see the guidance counselor again at this rate.
What's my problem? Everything. I'm a teenager. I'm overthinking things. It's 4:15 a.m. I'm human. I am overwhelmed. I want to stop. I can't, stopping is too easy, too good good for me. I need to suffer through the evil I'm creating for myself. Honestly, I won't turn deliverance away at this point. But a stick would be nice too. Give me a connection. A connection that very few people ever make with a person, a connection I don't deserve, a connection that I should work towards rather than beg for, a connection I might never have, a connection I should make with myself first. Give me that. Please. Help.
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