Stuck with a Punk ✔

No. 80.: Surviving

Alcohol and driving are not a good combo, but today, I hope I die.

I'm drunk, that's for sure, and it's making everything worse. Miss Alcohol-Numbs-Me must've been murdered by my ridiculous avalanche of emotions for Annabelle.

It's so many things at the same time. I'm angry, I'm desperate, dizzy, sick, exhausted and just overall broken.

I'm... I don't know. I'm just not okay.

As much as I try not to think about Annabelle or whatever went down between us, it's always in a corner of my mind.

Waiting in the traffic light and listening to a song on a radio, I still end up wondering about the same thing.

Completely random and totally out of nowhere, I slap myself as hard as I can, and it turns out slapping oneself isn't exactly easy. But given that I give half of my face a red mark, I'd say I hate myself enough to truly hurt myself.

Just what the fuck is wrong with me. Why the fuck did I tell her 'yeah, you just bang with me, but I bang with everyone'.

Who the fuck in their right mind would actually think of something so fucked up ever? No one. Absolutely fucking no one.

She's still mad at me because she likes me as well. Despite everything I've told her, she still let herself like me. Did she expect I had a sudden change of heart because I like to see her around and kiss her every now and then? The way I see life has not changed and it won't.

I've had first hand experience with looking at my parents. Neither of them was happy. Then my mother opened a private business Jo's Whorehouse - fuck for free - and we all know how the rest of the story goes.

And Annabelle was aware of that. If you know something is hopeless, why would you let yourself go for it anyway? Clearly, it's going to end in pain.

I guess, we can both be blamed for that. I went to stalk her ex, for Christ's sake. I got extremely jealous when she went on a date. What I can deduce from this is that I'm just as bad, or even worse.

Yeah, I'm a hypocrite.

I'm surprised at my own strength and determination to get home that make me not plank in the middle of the hallway and wait to die of starvation. 

In college, Austin and I were discussing painful and agonising deaths one time. While I claimed, I wouldn't like to burn to death and turn into a steak, Austin said he wouldn't want to die of hunger.

Now, things have quite changed how I see everything. I'd rather burn to death for several minutes, I'd rather drown and have my lungs full of water, I'd rather starve for a week, than have to live with this agony every single day. 'Cause this pain doesn't make me feel more alive, but like a functioning and breathing corpse.

One thing that I remember from the psychology class I went to in college to stalk Violet, is that while women are more likely to self-harm, men are more likely to commit suicide.

And I get it. That goddamn slap only worked for a brief moment. And killing yourself is a long-term solution to all problems.

As I'm unlocking the door of my apartment, I stop for a second and begin to wonder if it is possible to stab myself in the neck with a key. Technically, keys are a bit dull, so would it just give me a weird looking bruise? Would it even pierce the skin? And if yes, would I just so happen to hit the artery?

Before I decide to put the theory to the test, I unlock the door and walk in.

The lights are on, the sound is blaring from the TV - another girl is getting a rose on The Bachelor - and I hear Devon mumbling something sleepily.