Yesterday I did something I thought I'd never do.

I drank myself to sleep. No doubt, it was only a can of Tiger, but the deliberate act of methodically going downstairs, grabbing a can from the fridge, opening it and chugging it all almost at a go was what scared me. The intent of it scared me.

I hope I haven't hurt him, or scared him. Pain is a comfort zone for me, and things are just so good now. Too good. It puts me on guard. Immediately after I got off the phone yesterday, I started to cry and talk to myself, willing him to hurt me and get it over and done with already.

I don't know why I posess this strange obsession with self-destruction. It's when things are going great, when things are actually stable that I try to find some way to fuck it up for myself all over again, it's like I need the drama, I need the pain.

And of course, it leads to other self-destructive behaviours as well. Drinking, chain smoking.