three thirty-one in the morning, sitting in 6A with Jonathan as we both tend to our own things. I am listening to a video footage of my best friend play “Mazurka” and I find myself in a sorta’ paradoxical state of mind. I think that’s the right term, though I’ve never quite understood it completely so you’ll be the judge of whether I’m an intellectual or a fake (i s’pose).

Nothing’s changed this week, and yet, a lot has changed. Just life has continued as if nothing has changed. What do I mean by that necessarily?

Sunday, after coming from volunteering at the outAuction, Brandon and I talked. It wasn’t in person, and that probably lowers my standing with everyone, but in the end we broke up. No that’s the wrong choice of words, in the end, I broke up with him. It was bitter. I don’t feel better about myself, in truth I feel somewhat guilty. I feel pompous. I feel evil.

But there’s a part of me that just doesn’t care and as I relay the events to my mother and my foster father, they finally reveal what I’ve subconsciously known, or would like to think I’ve known but simply neglected: “Christopher, there is one thing I’ll tell you about your relationship with Brandon…and I hope you learn from it. You treated him like a toilet bowl, and I’m sure you know what that means…” My Mother. “Well, I can’t say it wasn’t going to survive. A part of it is his fault, but a lot of it is yours. But that’s his fault for expecting so much out of you, you might be older than you really are but you’re still a child. Don’t get angry at me for saying that. You’re just not ready for something that serious.” My Foster Father.

Yes. I treated my ex like shit, and thought of him as “well he does alright for now.” I don’t feel good about it, but I’m also confused since I know, or think I know to the extent of what I understand love to be, that I had loved him at one point. So what happened? What got lost?  I don’t know, and I don’t want to dwell on it anymore.

I’ve made a decision, twice now. I won’t do it again. But what now?

I find myself becoming rapidly more depressed than I have ever been. Not only is it that numbing sensation from my mind, but there’s a complete lack of motivation to work or socialize. It doesn’t stop there, it gets deeper and darker, and to be honest I’m getting slightly scared. This entire week I’ve tried my best to surround myself with people and things that make me happy, and I feel tiny pieces of me smile and laugh but then quickly return to the overall mood. This sadness.

I spent roughly five-hundred dollars today in SoHo finally getting the Burberry wallet that I’ve been lusting over for the last year and a black winter beanie-cap from Prada. I’m disgusted but then I’m not. Handing over my credit card and then seeing the sales person wrap each item and then place it into their respective bags before they reach my own hands. There’s a sense of happiness that I’ve never felt because I have kept myself from splurging so much money on ONE item. I know this is not a habit to get into and this is not how I should be getting rid of my sorrow but I can’t help it. Well no I can’t, but I don’t want to.

I’ve eaten several pints of ice cream and several bars of chocolate in the last day. I’ve had an over-abundance of sugar that I couldn’t stop shaking my hand when I tried to go to bed the other night. I’ve secretly been drinking a bottle of vodka before I go to bed, and the moment I hear about free liquor I’ve taken the opportunity. I have indulged in every delight that used to rid me of a depression, or at least put me on my feet so I can walk out of it but nothing is working now. I still feel its cold hands over my mind, heart and soul and that sounds pathetic but I’m getting rapidly lost.

Fucked.Up.Is what I am.

I want to see a psychiatrist or something before I decide to go back to drugs and being a whore without standards but I need to wait til November 1st for my new medicaid to transfer to United. But then there’s several issues: Who? I don’t want a shitty psychiatrist, which is making me wonder if I should ask my mother if she would be willing to find a good psychiatrist and pay for sessions. Where? That’s a given, must be NYC. When? Must fit my schedule. Lastly, me getting over my fear of psychiatrists.

I’ve noticed people show more concern lately, and I can’t decide whether that’s because of the break-up or if they’ve read the previous journal entry. Taking a look at google analytics, there was a huge spike in traffic within this week. +45 visitors and +243 page views coming from NY. The average is +20 and +120 pageviews from NY a week…which is making me somewhat paranoid. What’s worse is I think there are people that I adore and admire reading this, which makes me uneasy only because I don’t want them to get the wrong thought about me.

Bloody.Hell.