i'll have another martini please

i think i've finally lost it.
'joe' was home for another long weekend, and he left again last night. he never wants to do anything with me on evenings anymore: never wants to go out and meet our friends for a drink; never wants to call round at my sisters or round at our friends spender and sara’s; he never wants to just go for a long drive at night down to the coast or belt it down the motorway for a laugh; he won't even go to the pictures like we used to every fucking week.
he'd rather we just bought some drink from the shop and sat in watching telly or rent a film from blockbusters.
whenever i ask him about it he says he just feels old. i'm scared to ask him what he means by that though.
we found something out this weekend that kind of put things in perspective for us. we were in the car on the way to newcastle and to make conversation i asked him what his mum's last name was. he said it was pace and straight away i thought of a boy i knew called david when i was in junior school.
he was a year older than me and we used to be quite good friends, laughing and joking and being sarcastic about everything, thinking we were superior to everyone else. i might have only been 10 or 11 or so but i saw him as a really interesting, sort of mysterious person.
when i told 'joe' i knew him he said he was just a little kid. but he's a year older than me. and i told him i knew christie too, david's little sister, who was about 2 years younger than me and he went silent. he thinks of her as a child and yet she's only 2 years younger than i am.
i get so confused about age when i'm with him.
we're sitting in 'apartment' in newcastle drinking cranberry and vodka and jd and he looks me straight in the eye and says he feels old. i look back and take my first ever sip on a martini. there's nothing i can say.
i feel so helpless.
how does he want me to act? i've tried being 15 and he tells me to grow up, i've tried being 18 and tells me to stop copying sara, and there i am, 21, wearing a pastel sun dress, kitten heels, painted nails, perfect makeup and my hair tied back in a sophisticated bun, cigarette in my left hand, sipping on a fucking martini and that still isn't good enough.
i want to scream at him that i feel old too: decrepit. every second i spend with him is another wrinkle forming on my face. he doesn't know how exhausting it is keeping him happy, or how mind-fucking-numbingly tiresome it is listening to his shit for the entire 2 days of the week i'm supposed to be having a break.
but i blink softly, i smile, i gently sit my glass back on the table, just like a 21 year old might. i don't scream, i don't tell him anything. i just smile and put my hand on his.
when i got home i took the dog for a walk by myself, and i smoked 6 cigarettes one after the other. i got the buzz from just the first one, but that wasn't enough to screen out what i was thinking of.
by number 5 i was sitting under a tree about a mile away from my house crying my heart out. i was wailing like an animal; i've never heard myself make those noises before. i'd never felt so desperate in my whole entire life.
the one person in the whole world who i derive the tiniest amount of pleaure being with feels miserable around me. i don't really know what to say about that.
if i could just tell someone something: tell them i want to rip my skin off and fly away like a butterfly; tell them the awful things i've done to the people i love so much.
if i could just tell them how lost i am and how hard i'm trying to find an identity that fits; that i don't even know who i am anymore. it's been so long since i've been comfortable with myself that i can't even remember how that was.
i was sick all of yesterday. i felt nauseus from the second i woke up, and i'm off school today. there's not even food coming up, just bile. maybe if i'm sick enough the lining of my stomach will eventually come up and the rest of my organs until i turn myself inside out.
and they'll all be expecting me at school. you see, they don't notice me until i'm not there, and then they accuse me of being lazy and unorganized.
christ, if they only knew.