I know that I fell out of the routine of writing every day. I think this is because, in my eyes at least, my life is mind numbingly boring. Wake up, distract myself the best I can from my problems all day, sleep as long as I can, try to unwind, go back to sleep. There is nothing exciting about my life. Even my pain seems to have lost it’s spikes. I have mood swings but they are never to the manic side anymore, they are always anger or sudden onsets of violent tears.
And I miss him, constantly. That’s a given. He’s one of the first things out of a trillion that assail me when I wake up and the last before I go to sleep. Sometimes I can’t even escape him by sleeping. I wish he’d call. If he had any idea of how much pain I’m in, I think he would call. Right?
I’m not going to my sister’s baby shower on Saturday. It’s just too much. Since I have yet to find a surrogate, I am even starting to think about having my own child, which is something I never before would have considered. But I know me, and if there was someone that was part of me in this world, I would never kill myself. I might want to. I might regret having a reason to have to stay. But I would never kill myself. But I’m too much of a coward so I doubt that will go anywhere.
So I will be the worst aunt ever, and go to the beach and get high on Saturday, in the attempt to forget that my sister is getting what I’ve wanted nearly all my life and all my friends seem to be getting with no trouble. With no redeemable qualities to make them worthy of being parents. Not that I’m redeemable either, just sayin’.
That’s all for now. Because like I said, my life is boring