The diphenhydramine does not help me go to sleep. I would've rather a melatonin but that doesn't help me either I am on my last legs and there is no one to help me but that is fine. I have always assumed others were on their last legs too and hiding it and mine were particularly weak and I needed to stand a little stronger on them. The diphenhydramine does not help. The dextramorphan makes me dizzy. I would have done weed but there are no dealers no one I know I am not a one to go outside very often but I have to because if you don't you will die and I only half want to. Alcohol I am seventeen I am not old enough to buy alcohol then why did you steal it because I was lonely and sort of sad and there was nothing else to do besides steal it we'll let you off this time my uncle was an alcoholic he smelled of vodka and cherries from the fridge he loved his cherries when he was drunk. It makes me feel like an adult. If I take drugs, I am an adult. Kids don't do drugs. I'm not innocent.
	Days spent dying in my diaphragm on the bed heaving up in down in a cask of my own stench I have lived in my bed for half a day and I do not feel like getting out. Staying awake is painful but I don't know how to get to sleep I am not sleeping but I am sleeping I am awake but I am staring into a white wall and my stare will eventually bore through it to see my father in his room sleeping he is old he loves me too much. I am an adult adults are responsible adults live on their own adults have sex and drive fast cars adults have fun I am not having fun I must be a child or an edgy teenager I am not an adult. Beliefs are for the people who know how to have them, how to swallow everything and still have them, how to face a crisis and still have them my identity is like a water it shifts and I don't know where I stand I am bland. There is nothing in this but a paper bag and if you poked it I would float away into the sky.
	I am walking now on a street I cannot steal alcohol anymore because of the man whose uncle was a cherry vodka alcoholic I am not an adult I am weak I am a child I am a child but children are supposed to cry and I don't have any tears left because if they came to help me I couldn't half die like I am doing now. People aren't supposed to half die they are supposed to live, but living for me is quarter dying or eighth dying and in the end it feels much the same except this is more comfortable because there is no pretense there is no no I cannot there is only what I feel and what I feel is this and I am ashamed. I remember once I was dizzy and laughing and the cough syrup was breathing out of my mouth for me and my father didn't notice, he is old and he loves me too much, but I wish he would notice, but I don't. I want help but I am ashamed because that makes me a screwy kid and I don't want to be a screwy kid, I want to be an adult and I want to half-die.
	Children do not last long in this world my father had a hand he was heavy with it but now he is old and he loves me too much. I know I know I know but growing up how do I grow up I don't know there was no guide to it did people sort of just twirl around and fall into it and soon they were adults they didn't cry over nothing the things they see did not affect them as much why and what am I doing wrong.
	There is no closure. Closure is found in growing up and I am not old yet I am still young. And I am afraid. And I will not call. Because I am scared and I might feel that no one will come.