I gets no love

I can't sleep at all.
All I've been able to think about for the past two weeks is Brad Renfro, Heath Ledger, and all my other childhood heroes and how they keep dying. Even Suzanne Pleshette (sp?). I remember watching Bob Newhart with Dad (who also died, surprise surprise) and how it was just suuuch a classic and a grand old bonding time for us back when.
(On a side note, Stiff Little Fingers' "Nobody's Hero" has just begun playing on my media player. Dot dot dot.)
Seriously, this past year has just been shit in terms of the ones I admire going down. I think I may be starting to buy into that whole "the world's going to end in four years" thing that my brother told me about last Tuesday.
I can't even begin to describe my frame of mind right now, because even I don't understand it. I honestly don't know what's wrong this time. But then again, the Fluoxetine's making it seem like nothing is wrong. So maybe it's all okay? But what is it, exactly? And why can't I seem to remember anything that's happened before thirteen days ago? Fucking stimulants. Rip me from one and thrust me upon another. Thanks, Group Health.

On a lighter but somehow equally devastating note, one of those forbidden/hidden/I-actually-thought-he-wanted-me loverundercovers has found someone new. I don't know who. I just saw it on MySpace, my usual dreamcrusher. But I'm telling myself that I was over him anyways.
Speaking of over, I've been having nightmares non-stop for the past month and a half. Horrible fucking nightmares. The ones involving my father have stopped recently, only to be replaced with dreams of dead Brad and Heath. They almost always involve me accidentally (or is it on purpose?) overdosing and trying to hide the fact that I'm dying from everyone. Reminds me of those crank-fueled nights that I don't actually remember. Maybe it's a sign that I'll find someone willing to score me one fucking hit sometime soon.
Fucking shit, I think I'm starting to deteriorate again.