Journal

Now

I sink into the gross, discoloured sofa the moment I get back to the grimy flat I now call my home. I did it. I completed my first week as a tattoo artist. I mean, this is what I wanted right? So why does it feel so... lonely? 

I was exhausted and I wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed and stay there all weekend but I force myself to get up and make my way over to the shower. It's friday night and I'm going to do what normal 19 year olds do. I'm going out and I'm getting pissed. I have nothing to stop me; no friends, no family. It's just me, myself and I so I'm going to make the most of it.

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It's been about seven months since I left college and about ten since my boyfriend of three years and I split up. Since then I have been doing whatever I want, hooking up with random guys (and even a few girls and I'm not even bi), taking drugs, smoking, basically anything with "self-destruct" written all over it. I know I should stop but tonight is not the night I begin my new life. Tonight I will do whatever the fuck I want.

And so, I wash my long hair, newly dyed black and squeeze into a short black skin tight dress that I never would've worn before. Not that I'm any more confident than I was by any means but lets just say it gets me a lot of attention that temporarily fills up the gap in my life which is now comsumed by lonliness. And then I go out.