when it's too much effort to turn your head

the worst part of recovery is that final plateau, where you are just about there, but it's much too much effort to take that final step.

i've been hacking up chunks of crud in a lovely shade of pale green. i'm morbidly fascinated by the color and texture. spitting does a great job of getting it out of my body. i feel like i'm the only on in the world who has to admire the disgusting shit my body produces.

i miss everyone i've ever known. it's 50-some days and counting till 'freedom', and even that is something of an illusion. i'm trading one set of obligations and torture for a new set. hopefully, i will hate this new prison less than the one i am currently occupying.

i had about a week of soul-deep certainty that this was absolutely the worst possible decision i could have ever made. that the move will be terrible, that the people will be terrible, that everything will be terrible and lonely and i will hate myself and everything i have to do. that i will be too far away, i will be too alone, it will be too hard, i will be bored and not good-smart-talented-clever-notenough enough.

i'm mostly over it, but. the fact of the matter is, i am expecting the next 5 years of my life to blow chunks.

music that will save your life