So it turns out I am so fundamentally fucked up that I may have to be hospitalized.
Well, probably not. It was mentioned in the emergency therapy session I had today. When my father made the wholly reasonable request that he’d only provide me with more money when I could present receipts of all my expenses, I threatened to kill myself. I asked him, when you want to hang yourself with a belt, what do you do with the end that’s not noosed around your neck. He responded by calling my psychologist and scheduling an impromptu meeting. I have no idea how he remained as calm as he did. Continue reading
Because there’s too much to cover. I don’t know where to begin. Do I cover past, present or future? There’s so much shit going on in my life right now, to try and right some half-funny half-asspained blog post covering it all would be impossible. Continue reading
So I get back from NY. I land Wednesday night; it’s 6-hour time zone change. Two weeks of unprotected sex, drug use, neuropsychoanalysis lectures and trying to figure out how the fuck the subway works. It was spectacular. Considering I nearly attempted suicide three days before I left, this kind of experience is supposed to turn my life around. Give me a new perspective. Show me what’s out there. And it did.
Well, kind of.
Friday afternoon I’m opening the door to the IT lab I always go to. I used to go there to fuck around: mindless internet surfing, video game binges. The electronic numbness before I’d drive home and get high and eat shittons of McDonalds. Not this time, though. I’m a changed man. I’m going to work.
This door has this little sensor where you have to hold your student card so it authenticates you and briefly unlocks the door. I pull out my wallet and hold it against it. Blue light, flashes, flashes, flashes, green light. I grab the handle and look up. Robyn is standing right in front of me, looking me in the eye. Out of fucking nowhere. She’s kind of smiling, gives me this half expectant look of ‘are you going to take out your earphones and say hi’. My knee-jerk reaction is to briefly plaster on a fake smile and open the door for her. She enters, walks to her desk, I walk to mine. I’m stuck thinking of her for the next hour.
What the fuck, I think. Continue reading