Panic

It’s 3 am, I can’t sleep anymore and I’m having an anxiety attack.

Also I’m kinda hungry.

We had plans for tomorrow and I am stressed. So I got drunk, took my sleeping pills and went to bed. I fell asleep.

When I got home drunk I thought about that other guy. If he had been here, I would probably have texted him.

He texted at 1 am, I woke up I answered, we may not have plans for tomorrow anymore.

If I don’t have anything to do tomorrow I have to find something.

I’ve been thinking about s. again.

I can’t sleep.

If he had been here, I would text him right now. Ask to sleep with him. Because I can’t sleep. I need to sleep with someone in order to sleep.

I feel guilty about these thoughts. Not sure why, I have many petty reasons not to.

So here I am. Having a panic attack at 3 am.

He’s not here and not here for me. The other guy isn’t here (and not here for me). I feel alone again. I think about s. again.

He’s not here for me, whatever he says about it, he’s been walking on eggshells around me. I feel it in the way he touches me and the way he talks to me. Unnecessarily rough. Ever the realist, borderline just mean. I don’t mind, I don’t think I really care.

Depression with feelings is worse than depression with apathy. I miss that. Oh I miss the cold warm feeling of blood.

I can’t sleep. I took more pills. If i just overdose now everything will be fine.

Oh will they say they didn’t know? My friends, my family? Him? Will they say they thought I was handling this well, considering? Will my ex think it’s about him? (In case I die, let this be my testament: fuck him. I’d never.) Will they say they regret not talking to me more?

I do. I regret not being able to open up to my friends. But I also know I will never, so.

Everything about this moment of my life is stressing me out. I hate every single minute. I’m not even getting comfort from him anymore, cause he’s so careful about it. Gods I hate it. I regret telling him I have feelings. I should have shut up and let them pass, but no. I chose chaos for my own mind. And now I have to deal with eggshells and mean.

I think the only reason why I don’t start cutting again is tattoos. It makes me smile cause it sort of makes me think that if I had listened to my mom I’d be dead.

The other day I told him about my friend who plays the transverse flute. I said he was my best friend. I said he was one of the first I came out to. On the point of my tongue was that last thing and I didn’t say it. He was the one who saved me after my first attempt.

It’s almost 4 am now. The panic has subdued. The crying hasn’t stopped and if we still have plans for tomorrow it’s going to be tough. My head hurts. I want the sweet release of death. Or maybe I just want to sleep with someone who cares. Or both.