Truths

Yada, Yada, Yada, Masturbation or some shit

So I didn’t post yesterday (For me, that’s Halloween) so, uh . . . happy late Halloween. I was up out of the house at ten in the morning and I’ve only stopped right now, right at this very moment, as I sit on my computer at 2:12am, November first.

Now, I’m not a perfect person by any means. You all know that I advocate strong will, confidence, acceptance of self and body and yada yada yada, hippie shit, whatever. Well, I also like to party. Well . . . not party too hard. But I do like to enjoy myself. And I started at about five pm and from then on I’ve either been stoned out my eyeballs, or drinking.

If you’ve read even a sixteenth of my posts, you probably know my father is an alcoholic and you’re probably sitting there calling me a dumbass and that’s totally fine, you’re entitled to your opinion. But I don’t get drunk. I’ve always told myself from the time I was young that I’d never touch the stuff, but the truth is I will and I’ve known that since my first sip of vodka. Had a few mixed drinks (I don’t remember, Crown Royal mixed with some shit, Malibu Coconut something, then another was some kind of french something with Hennessy and was there a third type? I don’t remember, whatever), had an interesting drink that was both beer and Tequila–I actually liked it, almost like a sparkling cider taste . . . but with alcohol and not cidery. I don’t know, I suck at explaining things. I’m fucking deader than a dead horse right now.

Seriously, poke me with a stick. Do it.

So as you can fucking imagine, I’m tired as shit. Like I said, I didn’t get drunk, just a little happy, tipsy (I wasn’t gulping shit down like it would save my life) and I keep laughing because I can remember one of our conversation topics was masturbation but I don’t remember what it was about masturbation. Something about porno. I don’t know man, talking about objects or something . . . humping shit or something.

Squinting at the screen does not jog memory . . . dully noted.

You’re also probably thinking: Oh God, be careful, setting parameters for yourself doesn’t mean you’re going to follow them. I know, I know, I know. Give me a break. I may stay up late almost every night of the year, but I only stay up doing this shit once, maybe twice a year. It’s always been that way. Yada, yada, be careful, I get it, I get it. I know. I’m young and dumb. I KNOW.

But like I said, I don’t go crazy. I’m not smoking meth in a sewer pipe and downing gallons of vodka with my pet rat charlie who sits on my shoulder and doesn’t actually exist.

I did just try to backspace a typo on my computer with my phone so . . .I should probably get some sleep.

But, before I do that, I must leave you with this: The first bathroom in my county in any school that accepts “all genders” :

wpid-img_20151031_213006.jpg

Don’t see how being disabled in a wheelchair is a gender but . . . I guess they tried?

It’s at my former high school. It used to only be for wheel chaired people, or otherwise disabled people, so . . . maybe they didn’t want them to feel left out and just slapped their plaque on there.

I don’t know. I’m going my ass to sleep.

I ate so much food.

So.

Much.

Food.

About AlishiaDee (372 Articles)
Alishia D. is a blogger, a beginning novelist, and a counselor at 2nd Story Peer Respite house where diagnostic labels and the culture of mental health is long forgotten. She's a mental health peer who has bounced through as many labels as she has doctors, and enjoys being sarcastic when she can. She also hates writing in 3rd person.

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