I feel lost at sea. I don't know which way to swim to get to land. I don't know if I should just start swimming, because there eventually will be land, or to wait, to get a better grasp, or to just float uselessly and hope the tide takes me back to shore. Eventually, if I stay here, I might get killed by a shark. But I have no idea, and the fear of what is beneath me is equal to the fear that lies ahead of me. So I just tread water like a dick head, not knowing what to do, knowing that every second in which I haven't decided is a second in which I could have been doing something.
Life. Money. Writing. Work. Love. Sex. Alcohol.
All the things that I feel I need to be getting on with, need to push past, are thwarted by my need for the other things that my fragile mind can't seem to cope without.
God I want to drink myself into numbness.
Instead I'm surrounding myself with tv shows, with story lines and plots and characters and other lives. I'm submerging myself into the world of Skins so that I can avoid my own life, my own problems. My extremely first world problems. My pathetic unrequited problems. My hopeless yet unending problems.