Every so often it hits me.
Like a ton of rage bricks.
Why am I still here?
And what can I do about that?
Fuck the world.
There was literally no fucking benefit to having the surgery in the middle of the holidays. None. I had a ride home, and a little bit of supervision. Big fuckin deal. I wasn’t even crippled, and I gained no benefit from having to wait until there were a ton of people running around who would only yell at me. I could have dealt with this alone.
And I skipped improv for this. Hell, I could have made improv. I thought I’d take a break, and it would be fun. You know, relaxing. The truth is, it’s improv that’s the break. And I need it. I’m trying to gain people skills when I’m 26 and already watching my body fall to pieces. It might not be doing that if not for the accident, or perhaps the drugs, or perhaps there is some slow disease eating away at me. I’m growing certain that I’ll be dead by the time I’m forty. I’ve already had someone actually try to murder me (and I still dream about being his friend again…how sick is that?). I don’t think any of this is actually making me tougher. Just crazier.
I’ll probably lose my leg eventually. The right one. It’s always the right one. Next I’ll go blind. I can already feel it happening. Then I’ll be listening to a book on tape one day, when I’ll fall down and break my neck. If that doesn’t kill me, I’ll wake up paralized. It’ll be the bedsores that get me in the end. Gangrene. It’s going to fucking smell before it’s all over.
I’m not sure I want to stay awake any longer. Went to bed yesterday around two. Screw that. I ate the rest of my ramen noodles. Old stuff. Tasted exactly the same as if it were new. I’m going to try to balance eating healthy with eating cheaply. Maybe save up some money. When I wake up I am going to practice upgrading using APT. Then I will draw. I will definitely draw five pictures. I am not going to let this emotion laden screed keep me awake any longer. Good night.