After that last embarrassing post, I suppose I should try and post something uplifting and beautiful. But really, I'm having a hard time thinking of anything that is either uplifting or moving. My life is monotonous these days, and I have no motivation to make something cheerful up in order to put a salve on my ego. This last weekend was good, I suppose, but it was still marred by little moments of insanity that were, frankly, humiliating. Saturday night I went off the wall, and my parents almost drove down to LA to pick me up. I'm glad they didn't, but at the same time, I was so glad that they were finally listening. But after I finally revealed what was wrong, my mother is still saying things like "you have to pretend like you're perfectly even if you're a little blue…" A little blue? A little blue? I cannot even begin to describe how much of an understatement that is. She's suffered with depression herself, a little blue doesn't even encompass a fraction of the myriad of hellholes I've dug myself into.
So on Saturday, after crying for an hour straight, I ended up going out with some friends, and ended up macking it with some guy I didn't know, and felt so incredibly disgusting afterwards. I'm not a slut, and most of the time, I don't feel like a slut when I do things with boys I don't know. I don't think that's "sluttish," mostly because I'm discrete and don't go beyond the boundaries of propriety. But this time something just felt so weird about it, that afterwards, I sort of just closed my eyes and pretended I hadn't kissed him because the idea was just so insanely repulsive to me. It wasn't that he was ugly. It wasn’t that he wasn't a nice kid. It was just wrong all of a sudden. I don't get it, I really don’t.
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