I'm lying on my bed. Wearing a button up, white starched collar shit, my plaid skirt is laying in a heap on the floor of my bathroom. I've been wearing the same underpants for days. I haven't showered in weeks. I have swam in the ocean almost everyday this week. My hair has that salt water curl to it. Its getting too long, and I want to cut it off and go bald. I know that I'm too vain to do it.
I have a copy of my book lying next to me. I look at it and am instantly ashamed. I wish I had put everything I had to offer literary into it. I didn't. I'm ashamed. That's all I can think of. I want to open up Microsoft Word, and begin another story. I'm scared. So I just lay here. The sun is shining in my window and landing on the wall to my left. Hitting my painting of poppy plants just right making it look like a dream.
I imagine myself in the movie Wizard of Oz, as the four of them run through the poppy field, and find themselves dozing off to dreamland. I then begin to think about the process of turning the poppy into black tar heroin. I feel my heart begin to beat faster. The beginning of the month is coming up. I will have money to spend. I had planned on buy five books at least with this months checks. I am working my way through a list of one hundred books everyone must read (according to the person who made the list) now I have naughty thoughts racing through my mind.
I'm convincing myself...really what is so wrong with my wanting to escape reality for a while? Everyone has a vice. Right? Some people go to church and fall in love with their pastors. Some have sex with anonymous people. Some look at small children in pornographic photos. I myself prefer to inject myself with heroin. Its better than getting turned on by small children. Then again who am I to judge another person. I won't lie I do look down and am disgusted by pedophiles. I wish I could castrate all rapist. I want to show the racists that they are wrong to look down on a group of people because of their color, or religion. There are people out there that think all addicts should be shot.
I've convinced myself, on the first I will go downtown and buy four bags of heroin. I turn on my side and sigh, the beginning of the month is days away. What am I going to do till then. Can I get some on credit? Unlikely.
Fuck my father just walked past my room, I just want to be left alone. I want to sink into my thoughts and get lost. I want to become the ocean, and just follow the tides. I start to think of Virgina Wolf and suicide by drowning. I've herd that drowning is a comfortable way to die. Once you take in a lung full of water your brain begins to help you relax and die peacefully. I don't know who knows this, that is alive, or if its even true, but it is something to be hopeful for.
My parents haven't taken to my whole uniform yet. Its like a catholic school uniform. The skirt is just above the knees. The white starched collar oxford shirt, with a tie. I kept my converse shoes. I look anything, but sexy in this outfit. I want to buy an identical outfit so I can have something to wear while washing my uniform. I almost positive I'm going to cut my hair into a bob, and dye it blue. Katy Perry blue. I will just use blue Kool aid as the dye.
My mind is starting to think about me again. I think about me too much. I know I'm a narcassit. I hate naracssict people. They say what you hate most in other people is what you hate most about yourself. I hate HeroinHead for being an amazing writer. I hate reading his posts, because I realize just how untalented I truly am. When I read Shane's posts I think of writers like Burroughs, Burkouski. When I think about myself and my writing I think of Judy Blume on drugs. Pitiful. I don't really hate Shane, I'm just jealous of him. I love Shane, look up to him.
I feel the only way I can have anything in common with him is if I use heroin again. So as I said before my mind is made up, I will buy heroin at the beginning of next month. I wish then forget about how I can't write for shit, and how Shane can conjure up the most brilliant posts. You should read his comments. People want to wash his feet. They eat up his words like opiate laced candy. His readers truly admire him. Mine truly hate me. Now I'm crying. I must stop.
I really do Hate myself and want to die. That is my ultimate truth.