Pink Is Not My Color

Only my second entry in this blog and already I've hit the bottle. As I sit here typing, I'm alone in my apartment with Pandora blasting on my computer, choking down the most noxious fizzy pink concoction (vodka, tonic, and Rockstar) I've ever had the misfortune to drink. The liquor is my roommate's (she's so generous), so I won't have much, but as it is I'll probably get a stomach ache before I get drunk. But dammit, I'm trying.

So why bother drinking? Let me just tell you, I have every fucking reason to drink. Reason number one: I'm depressed. No, that makes it sound like I'm having a bad day, so let me rephrase. I have depression. Or rather, it has me. Reason number two: As I already mentioned, I'm alone. Loneliness is the ultimate catalyst for my depression. Reason number three: (If I were speaking, I'd be shouting by now) All my near-future plans have gone down the proverbial crapper. I had planned to move to Oakland with one of my best friends, but I failed to foresee how his financial situation would make him unable to move. So now I've got to find my own home in a mostly unfamiliar city. By myself. Alone. Reason number four: (And here I'd be shouting and crying) I'm actually stupid enough to move away from the best roommate I've ever had (who also happens to be another of my best friends). She's already got another place to live. Goddammit she's so resourceful and I'm so... not. Reason number five: I don't know, I just want to drink. Reason number six: I'm a borderline agoraphobe. For those of you who don't know, an agoraphobe is afraid to leave his or her home. I've always had problems with anxiety (they go along with my depression, making each a pain in the ass to treat), and now whenever I head out to make the trip across the Bay (on public transit by the way) to look at a potential new home, my anxiety hammers down on my head until all I can do is close my eyes and hope I don't freak out before I arrive at my destination. Naturally, this makes finding a new place to live pretty difficult. Last night, the fear of homelessness overwhelmed me. I was on a pretty good no-crying streak until then.

Suddenly now I have the urge to go out onto the fire escape of my apartment building, throw this half-empty glass of hideous pink drink and watch it shatter eight stories down, and scream incoherently into the night. But for fuck's sake, I can't even scream in my apartment. Sigh. Calm down. Must be the Rockstar. Caffeine and alcohol is the worst possible idea anyone ever had. I think I'll go outside anyway for some fresh air. This rant is going to look really stupid tomorrow.