How should I begin this?

Hello?

How have you been?

World, I’m back,

Fuck that.

Nothing has changed. I’m still a curmudgeon. I’m still better off left alone.

Though, I think it’s a good idea to attempt to post something of worth on here, yea?

Why?

I don’t know.

I don’t really have anything to say. I haven’t posted in weeks, and I feel like that’s a good thing. I said that I’d delete this blog if I didn’t make it sober into Feb; well here I am, and what? What the fuck? Stupid, stupid, stupid. I learned fucking nothing. I might have well been in a drunken haze for the last month. Instead, I was painfully lucid. Painfully in touch with myself. Painfully aware of all the pain others feel. I fucking hate it. I’m so fucking sick of it. I should’ve never quit drinking. Now I just have pent up anger and annoyance and indignation and all those stupid feelings people who feel too much experience.

I made it to Feb, only barely though. I can’t be around a lot of people sober, so I shut myself in for long periods of time. It’s not them, it’s me–at least, mostly me–but I can’t control my caustic nature. I hate fucking everything. I need booze to function; to like and love; to not sit in a corner and plot the point in time I’ll bash their stupid fucking heads in. I’m crazy, I hate it. I’m nice, really. Or maybe I’m not.

Again, none of this makes sense. Nice post, B—you stupid, fucking moron. Nobody wants to hear your shit. Die.

Nearly four weeks of sobriety and I learned nothing. I didn’t expect to, but I hoped and wished I would. I want something more. I want something more than me but get nothing.

I don’t sit idly. I spent all the time reading about various subjects to better me; none of that retarded chicken soup for the stupid fucking soul or how to not lose your shit and punch your sister in her stupid fucking face.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean that.

What did I do in my sobriety? I added further annoyances to my purview. I binged on conspiracy theories–flat earth in particular. I laughed at morons not understanding basic science while chastising myself for not knowing the same science.

Conspiracies are hilarious. I fucking love them. Of course, I don’t believe them, with the exception of every Jew conspiracy—they really do run the media and control the weather.

I find the psychology of conspiracy theorists interesting. Maybe, it just gives me the chance to not feel like a fucking dolt.

“Oh, the earth is flat? What about equatorial mounts?” silence.

Easy peaxy.

Oy, another rambling post. Did you miss me? I don’t, didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t, never would. I s/b put down. What a whiner I am. Sorry.

I can’t remember the day I quit drinking, and I refuse to look it up, but it feels like weeks. I think I’m right. I’ll guess, first week of Jan–so maybe a month? I don’t know. Who the fuck cares? That’s the sign of an alcoholic. Counting the days like a convict in prison. I think I’d like prison as long as there’s a proper library…how stupid.

I made it sober this long because I shut myself out from society. Bedroom, bathroom, road, train, work, and the same in reverse. The same for weeks. The weekend? Locked in my garage chain smoking, with the exception of my lover coming down one weekend to see who I really was: a sober coward.

I made it though. There was one close call. I hadn’t hung out with one of my best friends for a few months, so I agreed to go play pool with him and my brother. I was excited, high off kratom and Gaba (kinda cheating), but soon after getting to my pool hall, my friend came back and told me my ex was there. Normally, I wouldn’t give a fuck–I’d actually trip more that it was brought up at all–but it was an ex I particularly loathe. An ex who spent her time talking shit about me behind her back to friends I introduced her to. An ex who had the personality of whoever her friends were/who she was dating. She was a chameleon, and I actually envied it. I’ve never had the ability to blend in; to adopt the personality traits of the people I’m around; to fit in; to take advantage of other’s desire to find those like them.

I envied her, but I also hate her, because she’s fake. The fakest person I know. Normally, I don’t give a shit about those type of people, but she stole aspects of my personality–and I’m not being a scornful lover–she stole my fucking personality. The same people she thought she could talk shit about me to laughed as she mimicked my personality.

Fuck, that sounds so bad. I’m a piece of shit, not worthy of emulating. I guess that’s why I hate her so much. I have so much self-loathing, so much pain inflicted by myself and others,; so many lonely years, without anyone, without myself…all I had was my personality, and she stole it. I hate her. She stole a black and blue personality and rocked it like it was a name brand. I hate her. A chameleon cunt. A stupid, fuckingĀ  biter.

I ignored her at the pool hall. She came up, expecting me to be something(?), I’m not sure.

I told her that my precum has more personality than she does.

I told her that her Asian pussy is equivalent to a black micro dick.

I’m ashamed of what I said, but I’m glad she got a bit of my wrath.

Maybe I should thank her for inspiring me to write a few clever things.

Now, I’m done with her.

and I’m done posting.

I think I’ll be able to post something pretty manana.

Thank you, all you beautiful individualists.

Oh, not spellchecking or rereading :)/

 

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