No it isn't

An excerpt from Raymi's (Lauren White) book, marketable depression

'In the beginning you try and make the drinking bit of your life appear to be as glamorous as possible and for a while there you get away with it but then all of a sudden your beer gut is not going away and you turn into a poor man's Tara Reid except with nicer tits.

You lose the capacity to attain a drunken stupor. It only happens when you're with ten other people and you drink for several hours straight and mix everything under the sun and this probably means nothing to those who party every weekend and consider that alcoholism and are thinking in their heads yeah whatever I know what she is talking about.

No, you don't.

When you are drinking every single day, talking daylight hours to roughly one in the morning, that, is, alcoholism. So shut up.

Alcoholism is not a dance floor on a Friday night with a tie around your head and friends from out of town that spills into Saturday and Sunday morning and then you get back to the regular. With alcoholism the music never stops and you are always dancing whether you like it or not.

There's a moment of happiness here and there scattered throughout when you look inside of yourself and go hey man I feel good, I feel buzzed, this is alright.

But it never lasts.

As pre-mentioned, your memory just, disappears. It's a bit scary at first because it's like a message to you that you might have a little bit of a problem, you can't pinpoint certain events of the night previous. Did I fuck that guy? Did I say something bad? How did I get from that one bar to that girl's place? Did I take a cab?

And so on.

But that's what we want when we drink right? That's what depressives want. We want time to just go away and we use booze to make that happen and what's great is there's always another like you at the bar and if you're lucky that somebody is worse off and then you are allowed to feel relief because that dude has been up shit creek several times over and you, well, you've only just now rented your boat.

But these shells of people you meet along the way, like your fleeting memory, they are but warnings of what may be in store for you if you don't shape up. But it's no matter you tell yourself, out of sight, out of mind, you've got plenty of time.

Though you doubt it.

Can you really come back from this addiction?

Probably not. It runs in the family and look at them. Nurture nature whatever, you're FUCKED.'

It's just so apt, it's just so me...

Vicky was in Chicago Rock last night, we had a good long talk about things... and she admitted that there is, and always has been, something between us... she said we still have a connection, and she kissed me, a proper kiss. She looked beautiful.

Was out all day because it was Chatty's funeral, another one this year!

It's half past four, and I am drunk

'Please understand,
This isn’t just goodbye,
This is “I can’t stand you”,
This is where the road,
Crashed into the ocean,
It rises all around me,
And now we’re barely breathing,
A thousand faces we’ll choose to ignore.

Curse my enemies forever,
Let’s slit our wrists and burn down something beautiful,
This desperation, leaves me overjoyed,
With fading lights that leads us past the lives that we destroy.

I listen to you cry,
A cry for less attention,
But both my hands are tied,
And I’m pushed in to the deep end,
I listen to you talk, but talk is cheap,
And my mouth is filled with blood from trying not to speak,
So search for an excuse and someone to believe you,
In forgeign dressing rooms,
I’m empty with a need to

Curse my enemies forever,
Let’s slit our wrists and burn down something beautiful,
This desperation, leaves me overjoyed,
With fading lights that leads us past the lives that we destroy.

Curse my enemies forever,
Let’s slit our wrists and burn down something beautiful,
This desperation, is leaving me overjoyed,
With fading lights that leads us past the lives that we destroy.

Please understand,
This isn’t just goodbye
This is “I can’t stand you”.'