I quit drinking when I was 17. I was a horrible drunk. Nearly three years later and here I am, feeling that tingle in my veins. The booze is kicking in.

I think me drinking right now would greatly improve my day. I'd get the cry which I've been trying to do but it just wont happen. And I can make myself sick with a horrible hangover... and there's my diet started. It's wrong, I know. But I'm so fat. So miserable and wrong.

Fortunately we have a drinks cabinate full of scotch downstairs for when my vermouth runs out.

I hate my life. I can't change it. Can't improve upon on. Can't kill myself. So I'll drink. Play some sad music and just feel crappy about myself.

And I'm saying this not for sympathy, and not really for supoort, just so someone knows that I'm in trouble. No one knows me. Family and friends. They only care if I'm being 'happy Eloise'. That little, fat Barbie doll they pick up when they like and throw down when I kill the happy mood.

I wish I had a friend to drink with. One of you here with me, to drink martini's with and moan and cry. I could do with that. No one else to turn to.

Cheers, darlin's.
xo