Crumbled

Sometimes I have the extreme urge to divulge all of my secrets. Like the fact that I have to physically push my iPod earbuds as far into my ears as they will go so to block out all of life's static. Because even with the volume turned all the way up, it still isn't enough. And like the fact that I continuously feed my hangups rather than attempt to alleviate them. And that I find myself relating better to my 15-year-old cousins than to my peers and colleagues. Could I be the first in an epidemic of backwards growth? I guess it has to happen to other people for it to be dubbed an "epidemic." As my therapist so kindly put it this morning, "Tina, you say you used to be better with organization. With time management. What happened?" At what point did I emotionally, mentally, physically begin to fall apart? Was it when I hit 13—suddenly defiant of ordering my school clothes from a JCPenney catalogue and urging my parents to keep a 50-foot distance at all times? Was it when my mom died—forcing myself to go into parent mode, even when I didn't need to? Was it when I left for college—drowning life's shit into a case of Natty Light, even though it tasted like piss? Or perhaps when I moved to New York. Or Hoboken. Or when I began my first job. Or when alcohol no longer functioned as an escape. Maybe I'm too honest. I'll probably delete this entry tomorrow. Damn PMS.

Edit: Can I just say that my friends mean the world to me? You know who you are, and I don't thank you nearly enough. You're like my family, and family is everything. (Don't worry, Dad, you're considered a friend, too.)