I finished my exams a couple of days ago. (Un)fortunately I can't actually remember anything I wrote. For one exam I wrote 21 pages of politically minded rubbish. But never mind, I can now actually sleep until August.
So, of course I haven't been able to think, or philosophize because of my brother's yobbish shouting, or my Dad's nagging over my non-existent homework. I guess right now I'm just trying to figure out my life, what to do with myself. I can't even type right now cos my brother won't shut up, and I have sorts of thoughts in my head that is cramming up and clogging up any chance of doing anything useful like getting a job or figuring out what my life is all about.
During exams I didn't start revising until the night before. Before then it was impossible as I was busy, or the world just got in my fucking way. I know I didn't the A's I could have. I know - Boo Hoo.
All I do now is miss people. All I want to do is slice myself into strips. Why won't my brother shut the fuck up? What makes it worse is this psychological laringitis thing. The truth is I could slip on my wrists and with my dying breath I'd apologise for ruining your shirt. That sort of thing.
Before I couldn't speak about my problems because I was afraid nothing would happen, nothing would change and I'd still feel exactly the same. I haven't done or said anything, but I'm drinking again. Thankfully mostly I'm not alone: on Weds, after fucking up History I went to Liz's house and drank coke and vodka. Yesterdays was my friend's Birthday BBQ - it was also a bit of a Pimms party. But that was middle-class teenager fun. My brother is still here annoying me. For a King's College student studying Electrical Engineer, he's incredibly narrow-minded sometimes. A women's place is in the home, everything is my fault and diaries aren't supposed to have poetry or stories inside them because they aren't talking about themselves. I think he's the most uncreative, unsympathetic guy I know, and thats why I hate him so much sometimes.
Lately I've been going on late-night excursions. I would wait for my Dad to start snoring, then I would sneak downstairs and watch Tv, or eat cornflakes and help myself to my brother's birthday cake. Most of the time I drink Dad's whisky. Now, however, I have to go out and celebrate my birthday with two of my college friends and avoid bursting into tears, expelling my deepest fears, or worse. This sleeping frog in my throat may be destroying me, but at least I can disappear for a while. I just wish feeling as if I matter.