Eleanore the Gastro Bunny -- help me

My entire life has been a crisis of concience – for no other reason than nothing truly terrible has happened to me. I’ve got absolutely nothing to complain about. And I think that it’s maybe the people who have the most to complain about who don’t and the people whose biggest problem is getting out of their beds in the morning need something to occupy their times. Or maybe it’s just the idiots who have nothing else to offer to a conversation?
I think that I have always been a disaster, it’s just that, I also always thought that I was in control. A disaster, I told myself, was something that I wanted to be. Of course, when I was telling myself this, disaster meant wearing my pajamas to class or not taking a shower, or forgetting to eat. Now, to my dismay, disaster has more literal consequences. Or maybe I’m just pretending that I have not always been like this.
Studies indicate that substance abuse problems tend to run in families, that the more alcoholics you’ve got the better your chances of losing everything. My uncle died in a plane crash on his way to make a cocaine deal in Columbia. He could have been a success story, but he fucked the dealers and so the dealers fucked him – and they always win.
So maybe I was supposed to be a success story, maybe I will be, but I’m tired of fighting for what I think I need when the problem is, I never really knew to begin with. I’m petrified of being in public but revel in it’s embrace and yet, I have no idea how I came to this. How I came from the star student to the obsessive drunk girl. Does everyone fall down this path once in a while? For some reason, I don’t think so.
I don’t think that everyone become a disaster, they have disasterous moments but a moment is just a piece of time, a slice of what we call life. And if all they have to deal with are tiny slices then the whole cake will go down much easier. I’m stuffing it down and it’s getting caught in my hair – and this moment may never end, maybe this is life.