and age piled on

i turned 22 yesterday.
i don't feel any different. apart from massively depressed, i can't feel much at this point of time.
fine, i overdid it with the revelry tonight. fine i paid a bit too much of heed to my ego tonight. but that doesn't justify me being such a glutton for punishment. over and over again.

for some1, who has had a pretty great birthday week, i feel disgusted. with myself, more than anyone else. i really should learn... i really should. from the past wounds and scars and scratches.

but the idiot i am, i keep confusing myself with some exotic phoenix. "rising from the ashes in full bloom" and blah. it doesn't happen. if i had been a slightly more positive person, i it might have worked. the histrionic pleasures might have offered to me some bit of solace. it really doesn't as i clearly am that girl who lives her past... every living moment. its depressive. i think i am a maniacal depression junkie. far removed from what people think of me. i love my shiny happy fits of rage. and i love making myself go through those very processes over and over again.

ha ha ha.

aren't we all trapped behind a mask? sometimes, i think i need to be locked up... and away. in some gloomy whitewashed asylum cell. the only thing that can save me from my mind manipulating me into doing things that somehow end up being wrong. inevitably.

its funny. funnier that the funniest trip i've ever ha. funnier than the flying pig song. funnier than cartman.

this is in no way a vendetta against my friends. they are lovely people. trying to make my world a slightly happier one. they succeed. maybe, they don't. but thats just because i'm such a depression junkie. its worse than bulemia. i love it.

masochist i am.

and guilty too. i shouldn't be.... doing quite a number of things that i am doing now... i've done over the past few days... keep doing over and over again.

momentarily, i was happy. without south park. without weed. without narnia. without excuses.

it was my birthday. i loved the gifts and the booze and the surprises and the cake.

i shall not go out of my way to be mean. but i am back to feeling like the grumbly old lady i usually feel like. maniac. i. i should be 88. not less. thats the only age that justifies my sober state of mind. alone. over gtalk. in my room. far away from prying eyes.

i'm using way to many full-stops. cuz, i know that this is another full-on rant, trying to make me feel better. it is. and its foolish. funny. freaky. frumpy. i alliterated. yay. i should be proud.

my birthday has vanished in a nonmagical poof of dust ball.

i feel lame. lameass.

i shoudn't be shedding tears. not now. i shouldn't be the depression junkie.




soooooo, owing to a completely freaky change in mood, i decide that i am 16. yes. 16. not more, not less. i act like one. a complete idiot. its better. not thinking. being in the perpetual state of mindlessness that i had managed to trap myself into. it was fun. i was fun. i shouldn't allow people to urge/inspire/force me to think. it does terrible things to my ming. for i, am a regular depression junkie.

i have had it. i'm off to cower in a friendly corner and get my mind back in order. i hope, i shall be back soon. i know i shan't delete this blog. but i hope, i get enough affection to come back and write mindlessly amusing rants. not mindfucking ones. especially if they r fucking my mind so bad while i keep fingering the darned keyboard.

screw you guys (yes, if you think u r them, then u r them. i shan't bother explaining who that was for. not now. not ever.). i'm going home. (for a few days)