Socially Awkward - the Descent
So yes, to hell with it all, and my pride too. I was proud once. Once. I will never forget the beating I got from all the better-than-yous out there. To be honest, if you ever want a reality check, be proud of something, That'll teach ya. Here I am, sober enough to remember, drunk enough to tell you that life without a vice is hell indeed.
I remember the beating I got trying to be the best, trying to compete, trying my damndest, trying, just trying. And where did it ever get me? Where did it ever get you? No, it's not, really not about what you know, it's who thinks you know what; it's who you know that counts. I had a friend tell me once not to talk to someone. I talked to her and realized later in life that he really only wanted to keep me under his wing, under his control. And isn't that the way of the world? Everyone wants to control things. Everyone wants to be in control, to keep everyone else under control. Isn't that why we have war and pestilence?
Yeah, I'll pass, thank you. Just leave me to this bottle of jack, this lovely little disillusionment I like to call sobriety, this haze I choose to live my life in. I wish I knew how to have company in this mess. I wish I had someone here to fall with me. It would be nice to have a friend to share things with.
I used to have that you know. 'Til you came along. I had a friend I could give everything to and he'd appreciate it. He appreciated me. I wonder if he still knows I exist? No, you're right, probably not. I'm not all that great of a friend anymore. Hell I hardly talk to anyone, what makes you, or for that matter me, what makes me think I'd have a friend. Drunk little socially awkward freak that I am.
So I'll sit here and sip my beer. I've got a few left to go before I'm too drunk to be responsible for my actions. I really have to cut down on sleep too, if you get enough of it, supposedly, they think you are capable of functioning. Really though, I don't want to. Too much hassle, too much to worry about. I'd rather spiral down, my clumsy little free-fall, into an oblivion. It's fun in the dark and cold weightless breeze. I think I'll stay here as long as I can. Just please, do me a favour. Don't try to help me. Don't bother me with memories of the reason why I prefer it here. I'd rather joy in my decent. My lonely, cold, pointless, gives you a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach until you realize that's just the beer you had for lunch coming back for a second bow, painless little no-one-matters when you really don't care; descent into oblivion. Honest, I want my death to be a quick one. Hopefully soon.