Yesterday I was the polar opposite of a functioning member of society. I only got out of bed three times, each time only because I had to. All the food I ate had been brought to me by other people. I didn't even put on pants until about an hour ago. I'm a real-life train wreck.
I spent a sizable portion of my day yesterday writing the longest, guilt-trippiest, saddest, confessional letter to Pedro. It was about three and a half pages long. Compared to my letter to Jack, it wasn't nearly as embarrassing, but it was still pretty damn desperate. My friend Heather slipped it under his door so I wouldn't have to put on pants/walk (that's a true friend right there). He probably got it and read it, but frankly I don't know or care if he responds to it or not.
I've been trying to stay sane, but it's not working too well at all. I feel better than I did before, but I just feel numb now. Like I'm not horrifically and dangerously upset, but I'm not close to being happy either.
The only reason that I've showered today (and by the transitive property, put on pants) was because my friend asked me to come listen to music and work on homework with him. I'm glad he did, that way I had to drag myself out of my room. Now, I just wish I had the motivation to attempt to be happy and enjoy myself.
