Adrunkcunt~part3:

Author: Cassandra

I think the kind of dreams I hate the most are the ones where I would literally dream of waking up and doing the tasks I need to do, and everything would seem real. Whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that is going to happen next, it seems so realistic. I try to wish for anything, and then I would wake up and find myself still in bed, still there, with nothing having happened. I hated it because I would think that I had already gone through the bad part of my day, but no—the day hadn’t even started.

Anyways, I was sitting at my desk, looking into the void. I turned on the light, and there was a mirror. I looked into it, into my own eyes, and my eyes looked so empty. I would fuck them up. I really don’t know why I have that kind of look in me. I fucking hate it. I look at that look, and when I look even more, I see nothing but an extending void. I look down at my desk, and I feel nothing. There are some tasks to be completed. I look down at my hand and it finds its way to a knife i have bought not long ago. So I take it, and I look at it twice. Then, within a third of a second, I cut myself and was like, “Oh yes bitch, finally I can feel this shitty pain.” . I’m lying by the way. There was no actuel pain. I don’t know why I did this to myself, but that’s how things are right now.

The rush to cut, to cut, and to cut sounds dramatic, ain’t it? No?

Yes. It is a dramatic fantasy I have that could also be as realistic as other fantasies. Well, I just don’t know if I should be saying this or not, so imma leave this for you to decide reader, whether whatever you are readingis real or not. I’m purely focusing on listening to some music. It’s called L-O-B-A, slowed and reverbed. I don’t know what the song is about, it was randomly playing and i don’t reallylike it. I don’t know what to think of myself in this moment either.

I look outside the window. I see people walking, holding hands. I am lying; I’m seeing no people. I’m just imagining stuff from my memory. I look at the cut I had just created. I’m feeling nothing. Currently, they are calling my name. I mean the people.

I look down at the cat I mean cut. It’s bleeding and dropping a lot of blood. I’m looking at it like a cat looking at some kind of rat. I touch the blood and look at my finger. The oder is quite metallic, but not pretty. I lick it, and the taste is weird. It is weird. I’m questioning my act. Have I just drunk human blood? Hahahah. Am I now a vampire or what? PFFTTT.

I’m just looking again, again, again, again at the cat. I’m saying, “Oh no, they are calling for me.” I take some kind of tape, yes TAPE and tap it around the cUt. I’m trying to pull the skin together so it forms less of a scar you know? , so I can move on with my life and so that I won’t overthink about this cut. I don’t want no scar.

I’m apathetic. Yes, I think scars are pathetic. Yes, I think I am pathetic from the outside.

Do I really want to live? I don’t know. I am lying constantly to myself, and for that fact I don’t know what’s true from what’s a lie.

I then put on my clothes and make it look like nothing happened. I look at the garden and take a walk. I look at cats and think, “Oh, please, scratch me so I can go to a hospital, where they can ask me how I am, and I can say, ‘I’m not alright.’” I move on and keep walking, with music in my ears. I walk to a supermarket and overthink whether I should go to a pharmacy and let someone see me. What if my cut rots? Then I would have to deal with the scar. The fear of having a scar is real, and I know why I care so much. I then gather the courage to talk to a pharmacist. I’m like, “Can I buy some bandages?” I look into their eyes with confidence, but underneath it, I’m questioning myself: maybe they know. Maybe they know I hurt myself, and they’ll call and tell everybody. The fear is real. And I don’t know if I should even walk to the pharmacy, but isn’t this cut doing everything just fine and holding my skin together? I don’t know what to think of myself. My fears are going on, maybe disappearing. God knows. I just don’t know how this bitch of a mind of mine is thinking.

I can’t keep on thinking. I’m loosing my mind.

I then go back home and put on a pretty dress. Very short, very sexy, very appealing and revealing . Then I go to a nearby club. My city is big. No one would know me in that bar, no one should. I dance my life off. I dance my thoughts out. I drink whiskey because I stole some money.

I then find I mean found a man. This man had a sharp jaw and a sharp look. This man attracted me, and so we had some wild sex in a corner. A very quick session of fucking shit.

Then I blacked out apparently.