‘Forever 21’ is almost over. It’s my birthday tomorrow and I’m not feeling good about it at all. I’m going to try really super hard to behave myself. This will be difficult – I am certainly going to get extremely drunk and do stupid things. I am nervous about all of the bad things that I will do, all of the ways in which I’ll embarrass myself, all of the people that I will manage to upset. I’m terrified of my own behaviour.
I am nervous about being the centre of attention. I am nervous about 22 being as bad a year as 21. I am nervous that the two people who I’d like to wish me a happy birthday probably won’t bother, and then I will be sad. In the space of 5 days I have been on two cocaine binges and then slept with two different guys, one of whom was a total stranger, one of whom was That Horrible Guy who I vowed to stop seeing. God, I am so stupid. As I write this I am shaking my head at my own stupidity.
I don’t want to be sad and lonely anymore – it hurts too much. I am thinking to run away to Paris for a while, to recover, to think, to decide who I want to be – I do not think I want to be drunk and troubled anymore, but booze is the only thing that makes me feel better (until I do the next bad thing). I know that something has got to change, I need something to change. But change is risky, change scares me, change can go wrong.
Maybe when I am 22 I will be brave. Yes, I hope to wake up tomorrow and feel brave. 22 and brave.