Chairs, fuckers.

First time post, been lurking for awhile.

Christmas is my least favorite day of the year. I plan carefully to have people around me so that I don't dip into SH/worse cravings that crop up around this time. My support for the night bailed because I told him I wasn't stoked about how excited he was for kinky sex that I wasn't/am not in the mood for. We've just figured out that my basement ceiling is too low to hang from. I have someone coming to pick me up to keep me safe because I cannot afford the detox/rehab/grippy sock jail cycle right now/would come out of it homeless/evicted, though I know need it badly. I have no family or fallback, so on we struggle, I guess. I can't drink myself to death. I've tried and it just results in me blacking out, puking somewhere or on myself, and waking up hours later feeling defeated and confused. My awful roommate hid his sleeping pills that he usually keeps in the shared closet. Thanks, dick.

I've been on a pint to a liter of vodka per day for a few years now and I'm so afraid. It feels like even if I try to quit, I'll die from WDs anyways.

So here I go, to drink with my homie and a random dude she picked up at the bar.

Once again, Chairs.