It's about time for a post me thinks.

It's been a good three months since I posted. I'm slacking.

I'm probably bored, or miserable or can't sleep. It's usually one of the three. I don't really know which one to pick; I mean, picking isn't compulsory, right?

I don't even know if anyone reads this anymore; I'm not really fussed because regardless of who does or doesn't read it, it's still pretty therapeutic? to write. I think that's the right word, but I know what I mean, on that basis, maybe it is best of nobody reads this.

My life is somewhat disintegrating beneath my feet, that sounds kinda melodramatic - I think that was the desired intention.

I'm going to be honest, I have taken more than the recomended dosage of my pain meds, and a few more. Apologies for any typos, or irrelevant stuff or whatever. And I guess if anybody does read this, that can be my perfect excuse for anything silly I write. Win. I think I am punctuating too often. Oh well.

So, life, disintegration, melodrama. Yaddayadda.

I can't help but feel like I've been left behind, y'know. Like, everyone else has brilliant plans after (their) graduation this summer; jobs, further education, whatever. I'm moving back home. With my mum. And I'm ten times more cynical since last living there; she's totally going to kill me. I'm totally going to kill her. It's going to be awful. I have no job prospects. I have nothing planned. I'm possibly not even graduating; Heaven help me if my mother discovers this fact. Death will be more imminent than initially thought.

Like, what went wrong? And when?

Okay, that's a silly set of questions but still. When did everything get this wrong so quickly?

It's already been as good as it got, and I missed it.

*gah*

I dislike the fact I'm going crazy, or at least think I'm going crazy. I say going; I should probably have used the word "gone" instead.

It's scary.

I dislike the fact I got irrationally angry and yelled at my catalyst last week.

That was even more scary and somewhat confirmed my fear of me losing my sanity.

I dislike the fact that I now don't quite know what I can say to her without making her feel useless.

I wish she didn't have to deal with my bollocks. I wish I could persuade her that it's not her job to try and fix me. But most of all, I wish I wasn't crazy in the first place because that would make everything else disappear.

I dislike the fact I feel like I should be saying all of this to her. I've had a pretty awesome week where stuff has calmed down a Hell of a lot and I didn't want to ruin it by whining about how scared I am, or bitching about how miserable I am, and apologising over and over about how guilty I feel. I wish I had sometihng specific to talk about, it's all too vague. But every time I consider it there's a change in conversation topic and the moment passes.

I need to stop being so melodramatic.

I sometimes miss being fifteen and having no choice but to deal with things on my own. I forgot how. It makes me sad that I miss it. It was a lonely existence, but it was also incredibly simple.

Nothing is simple anymore. And ironically, sometimes it's just as lonely.

12.04.1998 - 29.12.2010

I made the decision to have my dog put to sleep last week. It was the hardest decision I have probably had to ever make; apart from, maybe, when I was seven years old and had to choose which dog I wanted to keep from the litter. I chose the neurotic one with the silly face who liked hugs.

I did good.

She was rubbish at down stays and it stopped us from getting a Bronze obedience award when I was eight, and she ate my dinner once, but she cherished my Pingu plushie that I gave her and she made an awesome Rudolph when we once entered a fancy dress competition. She was awesome.

To slowly watch her get less happy and do less dog things made me sad. She used to enjoy rolling around on her back snorting and then just lying there with her tongue hanging out to the side and her teeth on show where her lips all relaxed. It was the stupidest thing ever but she did it purely for her own enjoyment. And she used to make her strange happy sound when I rubbed her ears, but when I came home for Christmas this year she had stopped doing those things. I could have waited longer before deciding it was time, but I would have only been waiting for her to get worse and that didn't appeal to me at all. She tried to eat my advent calendar the night before she went. She didn't die sad. Not completely.

She may have been a dog but she was most certainly a friend. And I miss her. And I am so desperately trying to keep it together but I am most definitely failing.

I don't quite know what to do without her.