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I wish I were better at conversations so my friends don't have to drink when they're with me.

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I want to see your o-face.

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So a boil started to form Monday night on my butt. I had to ride jeeps for a good hour after the gym and I wanted to shower at home instead. You, know, that place where there's no questionable fluids on the drain and black spots on the glass shower door? So I didn't expect the commute to last an hour and BAM, suddenly there's a huge red spot on my butt cheek. It grew tender and pus-filled, but now, after a short nap, it burst. It's weird because it's only Wednesday night/Thursday morning, and that's too early. The only thing I've done is down a multivitamin and apply teramycin, which shouldn't agitate it too much. And I don't grind my butt in my sleep since I sleep on one side. I'm scared because I don't want it to leave a mark like the boil on my spine that I had two years ago. I want my butt to be smooth and shit. So I guess Oplan October Butt is on-hold while I figure out whether I go to an allergologist to get my antibiotic alllegies checked, or to go ahead and get old, trusty erythromycin.

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I induced vomiting today.

The meal: McDonald's, two sundaes, one iced tea, once coke, one apple pie.

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Yep. I've gone through two suicide attempts, both of them lasting hours long, I've been depressed, I've had my dad tell me not to hang out with gay people because gay people are sick, I've had my mom tell me gay people are rapists, my sister blackmailed me over gay porn in my computer, I've gone through a lot of fucking gay angst, and I have starved myself and vomited food years ago because I can't get fucking thin enough for dudes to like me. So I know what being depressed feels like. My bestfriend is a bipolar type II. so it fucking bums me that people would automatically assume I would blame someone for being depressed.

People I Thought Were My Friends don't actually understand me after two years of communicating over the internet.

I. Tried.

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I'm thinking that I shouldn't use Twitter or Tumblr as my shrink.

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I wanted to kill myself today. I think I am going mad. What would have happened if I went after my dreams 8 years ago? 10 years ago? But, like the other times, I thought about how it would affect Dominique. I'm not the only person Dominique has, but I dread to think how many more antidepressants or mood stabilizers she would have to take after I die. Dominique, one year After My Suicide. 2 AMS. 5 AMS. 10 AMS. It's the coward's way out of suicide, thinking about others.

Or maybe I should run away first. Of course I won't be able to run away from my mind. But isn't it better, going out having all the freedom in the world?

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And I was also beginning to think maybe I had something to say. Like, you know: I'm a creep, I'm a loser, I smell like teen spirit but I'm beautiful, no matter what they say, and I'm bringing sexy back, yeah!

Sprout in Dale Peck's "Sprout"

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Strength in a drunken lack of sadness.

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I'm amazed at how well Shungiku Nakamura captures my feelings.

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Similar to the sentiment of J. Neil Garcia's "Gift, 2".

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Jealousy over someone else's closeness with him. The worst part is when the someone else is very attractive.

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Wherever he touches me heats up and I can't sleep.

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