I'm a girl. This journal is almost 10 years old, when I started it, I called it Almost 21. Before that, I had a journal called Soap on a domain that no longer exists. Some things have changed since then, some things haven't. I always wanted to be a writer. I live out that dream here.
The last thing I remember about last night is sitting in Doug's living room, trying to outstare the ugly portrait of the soldier that was hanging on the wall opposite me.
Again, I am thankful for Boy who brought me home and tucked me into bed. I called him to say sorry but he assured me that there was nothing to apologise for. I was told that the worst I had done in my drunken stupour was try and convince him that I had magical powers (these included trying to dry spilt sambuca on the kitchen stools with my magical hand powers, and trying to mind warp Chip so that he would walk through the door - I blame Harry Potter), knocked the lid off an urn and some giraffes off a shelf.
"I think that maybe you should drink less." He said.
I have not been this drunk in a long, long time. After the last time, I promised myself that I would not drink to the point of memory loss again, but these boundaries disappeared last night as I let myself drown in glass after glass of vodka, baileys, and sambuca shots.
And, for those few hours, I was happy.
Now, the almost-depression looms over me as it has been doing for the past few weeks. It has reached the point where I walk into a room full of people, and am convinced that I am below every single one of them. At the bottom of the pond. They all seem to be either emotionally, physically or morally better than me.
I wonder how much worse it can get.
I don't know where these feelings come from. I would like them to go away, but they don't. I cry at work. I cry at home. Nobody cares, because nobody knows. And even if they did know, they would not understand.
Even I don't understand.
Naturally, the alcohol, as it has always done, can make the pain go away momentarily. And, as has always been the case, the pain will return when I wake up to the sound of my mother's angry voice abusing me for being so drunk, making the pain that much worse.
As I lay crying in the downstairs bedroom today, I closed my eyes and prayed. I prayed to God to make the pain go away. The last time I prayed was 9 years ago, when my friend told me the ozone layer had depleated, and that the world would be destroyed in two years.
Someone once told me, about my not being religious, that no matter what I had in life, or how happy I was, I would always feel as though something was missing.
Today, for the first time, I understood what they had meant.
Something is missing in my life, but it will not be found in the religions of this world.
I would like to believe that there is a power that watches over me. A power that feels my pain, and my happiness. A power that will listen to me when I cry, and will not judge me because I am not of a certain religion, or because I am a woman, or because I drink alcohol and have sex before marriage.
A power that will offer me unconditional love.
I do not know where to find it.