So, drinking a whole bottle of Southern Comfort may not have been such a good idea. Wasn't really the comfort I needed, unfortunately.

Yesterday was spent revising on campus, then at DBS, after which I watched Swordsman 2 with Kim. Had something of a chat two, and thought things were ok.

Exam this morning at 9, went fairly well; skipped one whole question, but hacked out enough stuff for the rest.

And enter d00m.

Spent all afternoon at woodies, reading and working myself into a bigger and bigger pit. It's no ones fault but my own, and I was dealing with it ok, until we went to DBS via Sainsburies and picked up alcohol. Drink is baaaaad, m'kay?

Anywho. No ones fault but my own, working myself into a depression (hey, s'what alcohol is, right? A depressant?), and generally ending up highly bastard like. So yes, the bottle (and yes, I finished the whole bottle, plus two tequila shots) of whiskey wasn't so good.



Nothing much in here, really, just an attempt at explaining myself... It's really stupid. I had myself all sorted out, but I guess that I didn't. I feel so responsible for fucking everything up for people I feel like so much is my fault, even if it isn't.
It's when I think about how much I miss her that it gets to me. A vicious circle, spiralling endlessly downwards. And if only it were easy to forget about her, to not think about her. I don't want to go away, and I don't want her to go away; doing so would make me feel even worse. And it was only so bad today because I went and got myself drunk.

I feel like I'm estranging everyone, especially her, and that really hurts me.
People keep telling me that it'll get better, and that eventually the hurt will go away, but that doesn't stop me from missing her, from loving her. I feel like a chunk of me is missing, and I'm doing my godammed best to try and ignore it and move on, for her sake.




I wish I wasn't so weak, I wish I could deal with this, I wish I wasn't so paranoid.