Last show, other crap

I've dragged my brand new laptop upstairs while I make pasta. Yes, it's 3am; no I don't care. I'm hungry now, and because I'm STILL out of pills, my schedule is insane right now. I went to bed at 6:30am this morning. Was up again at ten, and finally got some real deep sleep around 4-6pm. Now I don't know when I'll get to sleep again. These days are hell week. Agony for me. The times I'm chancing things. Because if I can't sleep after so long, I'm told to go to the hospital for a sedative.

I've been so fucking bored today. I can't leave my computer though. So I'm still glued to "This American Life" and playing games online. Fucking around on facebook. Bored.
I don't know why. I could've gone for a walk. Painted. Written. Read. I look back on this day and I feel sorta disappointed in myself. My eyes hurt. I think it's the novelty of the new toy. A computer that fucking works. I don't want to take it for granted, as I feel about everything good in my life. Oh yeah, and I got in trouble this morning about my cell phone bill. Apparently the games I downloaded were an extra 40 bucks. Whoops. Wish I had 2 more shows on the horizon. I'd just pay Dad back already. I owe him A LOT of money at this point. Unfortunately. My pay check has long since stopped covering the parking tickets I get in Seattle. It's funny, I'd never had one til the last year. Now I have fucking 50 or something. Maybe more. I'm not proud of it. Quite the opposite. I'm constantly worried now about them towing the car away. The only solution is to look into the bus schedule, but if I miss it because I'm too tired or not feeling well, then that's not a good situation.

Anyway, I'm home now. I'm listening to Lauren and Ben talk and giggle and record music in the next room. They're getting along, and I believe it's the first time I've heard, or seen it. Makes me miss my boyfriend. One afternoon in particular comes to mind. I got there late afternoon and we had sex fairly early on. We laid around giggling for awhile afterwards til we got up to go see the movie Borat. That was a good day.

The show Flash Suppressor had on Saturday was strange. Johnny came with me to this show and that always makes it better. I had some other friends promise they'd come, but none did, making the fact Johnny was there all that much better. We arrived at the Tiger Lounge and it's a club that used to be a house. Really. There is a tiny stage in the living room. The kitchen is the bar, and there's a room in the basement that's been transformed into ancient pinball heaven. Heard the first band play. They weren't bad. But they were a Christian band. We got the sweet spot: Second. We had the largest crowd. But, technically speaking my band brought out the most people. During the first band some skinny girl with 2 black pigtails got on stage with the band and head thrashed for a minute. I looked at Johnny. We were both making the same expression that seemed to say "are you seeing this?" We both deduced right away she was fucking crazy. Not in a cute way. In a way I was seriously trying to asses which mental illness she had. So of course, during our set she returned to the living room. Only this time she was in a bra with tassels. They swung around and rubbed on me during our cover of a Black Sabbath song. I graciously danced with her, and tried to encourage her enthusiasm while inside almost pitying her desperate cries for attention. She def had daddy issues.
Afterwards I spent a good 45 minutes talking to various people about the band and show. It was the most compliments I've ever received in one place I think. I felt bad leaving J for that long, but at the same time loved having people ask questions and give praise. We retreated to the pinball room as the third band took the stage, because they were FUCKING LOUD. And not terribly good.

Brian, Johnny's drummer showed up then. So we hung out and talked with him for awhile. Meanwhile Johnny and I are still drinking, and I get into an in depth conversation with the guitarist from another band, and the bar owner who offers us a gig there any night, and promises to pay us very well. Eventually the last band took the stage and with Johnny just a little drunk he put his hands on my hips as I stood in front of him and I stayed there for as long as I could. We conversed a little about the band, really enthusiastic about them. They weren't really his style, so I questioned whether he'd feel the same the next day. I thought they were alright. Very angry band though, and just a tad cheesy. The night overall, was fun and worth it. I dreaded Sunday coming, as I always do. It leads me to the days I don't have him. The days I'm bored, always broke, and chancing a fight with the roomies over the noise level.
Turns out Johnny and I would disagree on Sunday. But I don't believe it was a fight. He was in an irritated mood, and I picked the wrong time to bring up a question I'd been wondering about. What I should have done was just gone home and forgotten it. It sucks though, because I'd really enjoyed sitting in the nook where his bedroom is, while he played games in the front room. I came home to my cold room and crawled under the sheets. I waited for the tears to come when I finally found the comfort of my bed, but I didn't cry. Instead I turned on my radio, folded up my air mattress, hung my show posters, and did some laundry. My head ached from 3am on, knowing my body was starting to crave the sleep it wouldn't see much of. I took a codeine and that only made my head ache more. I'd only eaten 2 eggs that day, around 9pm. I should just avoid the pain pills when I don't eat. It's a fucking waste. It makes my head hurt so much, I never notice if my limbs and back have stopped aching.

I wish there was someone I could talk to about all this. But... there's no one to call anymore. I automatically turn to my blog and hope it just sort of sets my thoughts out straight. I have no desire to tell a fellow psych student Chelsea about anything, because she's judgmental. Summer doesn't listen very well. I'd never burden Greta or tread on that. Lauren's working through her own shit. I've emotionally isolated all of the guys that were in my life. Even Wayne, who I would normally tell anything to. Our conversations consist of nothing personal now. I only speak to him once every 2 weeks, if that. It's always on messenger for a moment, then it's over. His band has been dismantled. He still hates his job. Besides adopting 2 ducks, he has Daisy and Joey still, 2 of my fav pups in the world. I worry about his depression. My friend Cary said to me "you're gregarious with people who wear masks" the other day. Wayne wears one more than anyone I know, but that got me thinking.
Johnny thinks I show him more of the less good stuff than other people.
I can only ponder this and conclude it's because he's the last person I trust. I let him see the real stuff. Not the usual optimistic posts to facebook, or whatever else. I mean, I feel whatever it is I'm saying I feel. But there's always turmoil underneath. I'm worrying about the car. My Dad. Our relationship. My band stuff. I worry about what my life is going to be like when my parents are gone. If I'll go before them. There's almost a comfort in that though again, because then I'm not a burden anymore. I didn't chose to be born. I didn't chose this life. I didn't chose my brain. I way didn't chose this body. I wonder if I can't find a way to supplement my income, how that's going to affect everything. I know there's a substantial inheritence I'm supposed to get someday, but the only way I'll ever live comfortably is when my grandparents go, and then there's guilt attached to that. Loads of it. I wonder if I'll be homeless again, hungry. Struggling the way I did 6 years ago. And the again 3 years ago.
I have had a small taste of that the last 2 weeks. Running out of pills and money on the card. It makes me uncomfortable. The only difference is the 80 I get a week to fill in the spaces. That has made all the difference. I can make the 80 stretch when I have to. But being social is always a priority. I know my Dad feels terrible about that time in my life. Had he known exactly how bad it was, and I had told him straight up I'm sure he would have tried to help. But I'd argue with mom, and leave empty handed. It just wasn't fucking worth it. I didn't physically have it in me, and emotionally didn't have it when it came to my mother. So... I starved. And hid in the studio apartment. And died a little inside everyday.
I wonder what people feel when they read shit like that. I feel numb. And I don't want to go back.

The difference is night and day. Now I'm home in my fav city, playing in 2 bands a dream come true, discussing a tour another dream come true, dating someone who fucking answers my texts and I don't worry about dissappearing on me or cheating on me, I karaoke when I want to, and I've recorded an EP. I'm more stable mentally (even though I still have bad days. Everyone does.) and I don't ever get the feeling that washes over me anymore that I've lost myself completely. I eat now, and still pray someday I'll be able to sleep when I want to. I have my car and that's akin to freedom for me. Now with my new computer I can listen to Pandora whenever I desire, and of course, This American Life. I don't hurt myself anymore. I've more or less quit smoking, and the only drugs I take currently are prescribed. That is about a million fucking years away from where I was anytime in my life prior to moving back here. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me. People say you can't run from your problems, but I did. And I got better. So neener neener.

Anyway, this post is ridiculous. It's a bipolar post and I apologize. I'm not really feeling anything other than frustrated with my brain, and the birds outside now chirping away since it's 5:30 am. I'm gunna listen to NPR and not sleep. I have clean sheets and a purple raccoon to cuddle with. So I'm gunna do that.