Never did think I'd ever come back here. I doubt anybody still remembers me. I don't even know why I'm posting this. I just HATE everything right now. My insomnia is back, and I don't seem to be able to fall asleep without drinking myself into oblivion. Seeing as how that's turned into a little bit of a problem, I'm trying not to do that. And not doing that is leaving me a lot of alone time with my thoughts, which is really not good. I spend to much time in my head at work anyways, and I never come to any good conclusions about myself or my life. When I'm alone in my head on my own, I start doing stupid things to myself. I start thinking of stupid things to do to myself. And then I start thinking of all the reasons I should be doing stupid things to myself. I hate what's happened to my life since my mom died. I've ranted and raved about this so many fucking times, but all I seem to do is work nowadays, and I never seem to have anything to show for all of my work. Dearest daddykins seems to walk away with whateverthefuck I've earned. Moving out would be the logical conclusion. That used to not be an option because I was too young. Now I can legally move out, but I'm freaked the fuck out of doing so without an excuse like school because dad is a big scary man who's hurt me a lot in the past. Stupid, no? I'm daddy's little doll, and I'm pretty scared that he's going to break me if I try to leave. He doesn't have much respect for the law, in any case. So, what do I do to deal with that? I play music, until the neighbors start knocking on the door. Then I drink. And drink and drink and drink and drink. I don't think there's been a single day in the past half year where I haven't gone to bed half smashed. Probably not a good thing. It's starting to mess with me. I seem to be dizzy and light headed all the time. When I'm not fogged out of the world, I feel empty. Empty empty empty. Just a stupid little worker bee. Probably doesn't help that my ex-boss drugged me and got me drunk and took full advantage of me at a party. Didn't seem like anything out of the ordinary that we were drinking together with some friends at his place. Hell, he'd taken me to shows with his wife and my friends and boyfriends and what not. We went to concerts together and shit. Only his wife was out of town that night, and my friends were fucked up as well. I don't think I'll ever forget seeing is fucking face in the morning asking me if my arms hurt and if I could be trusted to return a shirt (mine was in tatters). Then came the sadistic: "Your friends are gone. I wonder if I should take you home or just leave you here for the day." He made me fucking blow him and promise come back to work the net day to take me back to town. He was surprised that I came in only to hand in a resignation. One would think I would have learned my lesson to cut out the drinking and shit. But, no. I've ended up drinking a lot more since that. Somehow I feel it was my fault. And I feel fucking awful because of it. Filthy. Dirty. Sick. Bad. Wonderful friends I have. Boyfriend, too. He was my ride up there. He said that he left because he felt out of control. They made a few remarks when they saw me after that that I really didn't look comfortable with my boss. They said they left because it "wasn't a nice scene." Can't blame them, though. I invited them. The bf went so far as to call himself a victim. I fought. I showed him the marks on my wrists, and he didn't fucking give a shit. Just gave me a hard time. My boss was his friend...it's some consolation that they don't talk to each other anymore, at least. Huh. Dad doesn't know what happened. He yelled at me for quitting the job. Said I was a lazy good-for-nothing bitch. That felt good. Nobody knows, really, except the boyfriend. Kinda glad they don't. I'm kinda glad they don't. I just...I don't know. I feel like just vanishing.