Happy Day Of Birth To Sarcastic Narcissist

Happy Holy-Crap-You-Actually-Made-It-Through-19-Years-Of-Life to me.

I really don’t want to sound bitter, and all of that — because it is my birthday, it’s the one day I should be happy for no reason, just because it’s my special day sort of thing. But so far, the day just has not gone over well. It’s only 6AM, but I hardly got any sleep last night. It’s too hot. Even with the fan on. So I’ve reduced myself to taking meds again just so I’m able to sleep a bit. All of my “Friends” (you know, the ones who were just jumping over cars to see me when I visited home last month), are back home… and I’m up here. Sure, I’ve got some people to spend the day with here — but  it’s not the same.

My boyfriend is determined to make my day a good one. I’ve got a surprise in store later, and he says he’s going to be getting me some nice flowers as well. So maybe that’ll cheer me up. I’ve honestly never been with a guy who was nice enough to give me flowers (… even though I’ve constantly expressed interest in getting them before. >_>)

Then he’s taking me out to supper at this pub with good food and booze (which I can legally buy now). Should be interesting.

I really am trying to make the best of today — but it seems like I’ve got this block that prevents me from actually being happy about it, even though I really, want to be.

After all, I didn’t think I’d make it to see 17, let alone 19.

The Morning After

I finally managed to get to sleep last night. I had to take some sort of… cough and pain medication that made me drowsy. Make me glad I wasn’t on citalopram anymore, because apparently since the stuff contained codeine, you’re not supposed to mix it with anti-depressants. Of course, I wanted to sleep pretty badly last night, so I probably would have mixed it anyway.  I hate feeling like I’ve sunk this low. It didn’t always used to be this way.

I’m sick of always feeling sorry for myself, y’know? I feel as if I should be able to just look myself in the mirror and say, “OK. We’re done with this. YOU’RE done with this. Game the fuck over. OK. So let’s pick up and move on from where I left off.” Sometimes, I feel like screaming these things at myself. Wouldn’t do much good, but hey — it’s a thought.

So as one roommate moves out, another moves in. My friend from back home was having some crazy issues with her boyfriend, and didn’t want to get stuck moving back home. Me, being the good friend I am — talked it over with my boyfriend, and agreed to let her stay here for three months. It’ll be nice having someone I actually used to know living here, but at the same time — I’m skeptical. Just a little. She’s a compulsive liar. Sometimes, I think she can’t help herself when she does lie. It makes it to the point where when she actually does tell the truth about things, you never really know when you can believe her. I’m partially feeling like she’s making a lot of stuff up just to move into a place that’s a lot closer to her work. She’s messed with me in the past, and I’ve called her on her lies I don’t know how many times, but nothing changes. Like I said, she probably can’t really help it.

I am sure that everything’ll be fine. She’s agreeing to pay 400 a month, plus buying her own food. I guess I will have to see how this goes, I guess. I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt, for the most part. I’m only slightly skeptical. I’m trusting her on this. I’m trusting that she’s been telling me the truth, and that she’ll go through with everything she agrees to. That may or may not be wise on my part — to decide to invest my trust in a toxic source. Or perhaps, what used to be a toxic source. People do change, right?

All I know is that once someone screws me over after I’ve decided to trust them… then it takes forever to trust again. Of course, I’m sure that’s a trait I share with a lot of people out there. That’s always how it is, right? You’ve got to look out for yourself, you’ve got to look out for number one. And if in the process it makes you a bit paranoid about things, then so be it? Can’t get hurt if you’re cautious. But then you’re not really living, you’re not taking chances.

That’s what I’ve been trying to do lately.
Take chances. Take risks.

Coming up here, was the big one. Choosing to stay was another.

And the next big risk?
Trusting my friend.

I’m hoping it turns out well, because I have a habit of making horrible choices. My boyfriend assures me that it should be fine. As long as she pays the money, all is well. And she’s got a good job, so she’ll have the money. But money isn’t everything. If she lied about everything to make us feel sorry and let her stay here when we weren’t looking for a roommate at all (… in all honesty, I was pretty happy about the idea of not having another roommate once the current one left), then I can’t make the promise to anyone that I won’t pack her stuff up, and leave it outside.

I don’t react well to finding out I’ve been lied to.

But that’s just the “if”.
I’m entirely sure that won’t happen. OK. Maybe not entirely, but partially.