Depressia [part 1]

Oh, crap. My usual I-don't-give-a-fuck mood is turning into I-just-wanna-slit-a-throat mood. Attractive, right? Not really. I look like a combo between Goth & Goth-er, if you get what I mean. I've been drinking coffee with rum for the past few hours and I still can't feel numb. I think it's just making me fat. Gotta lay off this shit, that's for sure.

I'm Depressia. Yep, with a name like that, no wonder I'm depressed. And no, my mother wasn't smoking pot when she gave it to me. At least, not at that moment. I think dad, oh sorry, I mean he-who-is-nowhere-to-be-found, must have come up with it on one of his out-of-body experiences. So, coming back to the most precious me, I'm a twenty-year-old ex-student, with a degree in fucking things up. Or just fucking them. Anyway, I don't have a job or a future. I only eat what's in labeled bottles and sleep during the day. My best friend (a forty-year-old homeless guy - don't laugh, we have a strong bond. Too bad he's gay, I would've asked him to be my roomie) says I'm the modern version of an alcohol-sucking vampire. Seriously, do I look tall, dark and... eh, beautiful?
Oh, fuck that (yes, I do say the f-word a lot. I think it's grown on me. I wouldn't mind if my name was Fuckia. Sounds exotic, right? That's what I thought too.). So, tonight was supposed to be just another very-common-and-alone-spent night. Well, not completely alone, I do have my cat with me. She's missing an ear, but I think it's part of her charm. I even got her tail pierced. So, like I said, it was one of those nights when I celebrated my retardyness (and if that isn't a word, it still applies perfectly to me). But unlike the other nights, it felt... wrong. More than it usually did. Depressia is in depression mode. Is that funny or what?