good | bad | profile | band | remember-it |diaryland
if I keep walking in straight lines
2014-12-01 - 1:34 a.m.

Full on panic attack first night in this hole.

I moved into a basement apartment, 8 bedrooms. It's more or less dormitory. Three cats, reeks of their shit.

Sam lost one of the feet to my bed frame. Says it's probably in a box. Having my bed off the frame, missing the piece, so mad at Sam and his no big deal mentality.

Then in the closet, I noticed the the hanger rail was sagging on the inside of the closet, put a little weight on it and watched it collapse with all of my shirts hanging from it. I saw it and knew what I had to do to fix it, hammer and nails would work, but not at 11pm.

But it still broke my back. It still got me shaking, nauseated, calling my father because I don't know who else to call. He just woke up, asks if anyone in the house can bring me to the doctor. Asks, Where's Sam?

I'm on my bed half sobbing into my fucking shirt sleeve, holding it back but breaking every few minutes when I think of all the moving I did today and how much I fucking hate every aspect of my life right now.

Dad asks if it's time for meds again, and I can't tell the difference between me being fine and saying I'm fine. I walk around hoping to get hit by a car or shot or stabbed. That's fine. I'm fine.

He says take a hot shower and drink some tea. Go right to bed. You just need to sleep. You're just tired. One thing at a time.

I remember this feeling the last time I moved, but this place has no hope. There is no way this place will be home, with every person here one foot in, one foot out, cat hair covering everything, no where to put anything in this filthy bathroom.

My fucking bed frame. My goddamn fucking bed frame sent me spiraling. I don't want to do this anymore.

earlier - later