I feel like shit.

Someday when I look back at my life, I know I'm going to have a lot of regrets. That scares the crap out of me. I'm nineteen and already I regret so many things.

I regret that I never finished high school and, let's be honest, maybe I never will.

I regret that I wasn't more outgoing, that I didn't build up friendships when I was in school and there were hundreds of my peers just milling about. Making friends would have been easy in high school. All I had to do was open myself up a little bit. Why didn't I make the effort?

Now I'm all alone again. The only friend I have in the world lives in Mississauga. The only people I can get to go out with me are my brothers, and even then I have to beg and bribe them.

I'm nineteen, it's my birthday and the only thing I have to look forward to is mushy meatloaf, oversweet chocolate cake, and maybe a movie with my dad. When you're nineteen you're supposed to have a huge party. You're supposed to get a shitload of you friends together and get piss-faced. This is supposed to be planned ahead for months. It's like a coming-of-age ceremony, it's a stepping stone to adulthood. It's like getting you driver's license, buying your first lottery ticket. It's toking up for the first time, getting drunk for the first time, getting kissed for the first time. It's one of those times where everything should be going my way.

Instead I shut myself up in my room and cried.

If I ever have kids and, when they turned nineteen, they ask me what I did for the first day that I was ever legally allowed to drink, all I'll have to say to them is "I ate some mushy meatloaf," and then I'd get depressed all over again.

I get paid tomorrow. I think I'll blow my whole paycheque on making myself feel better.

God I wish I could get drunk.