Here we are again. A night resembling so many others.
Loneliness is the enemy. Self doubt and fear is the company. Alcohol is the constant….is the welcomed familiar.
Alcohol is the mute button. Good ole Kraken. Coming to save to day. Or ruin it. Depending on perspective, of course.
I say I’ll have one drink. Hah. Everyone knows that’s a lie. I haven’t had “one drink” in years. I don’t even know what “one drink” means. 2 drinks? What….2 glasses full of strong as shit liquor? If one drink equals like 1.5 shots (at absolute bare minimum)….that means…”one drink” for me is what…3-4 typical drinks for the “average” person? Hah.
Sure. Okay. Maybe “2” drinks. I’ll be done after “2”. Let’s be real. Drinking isn’t a measured fact. It’s an attained feeling. (Or lack there of.)
Sure, 2 of my pours. 2 of my “oh shit, I didn’t leave any room for soda” pours.
Midnight is fast approaching and my eyes are exhausted. My body is screaming in pain to just give the fuck up and go to bed. My physical self is so far gone.
But my head fights it.
Which is worse…..the nightmares while asleep? Or awake? I’m not sure either way.
I have the means. I have the will. And I have the desire. So why the fuck am I still here? Maybe I lack strength.
I’m case you didn’t know, it take almost as much strength to give up as it does to actually live. Either choice is truly horrifically brutal. And anyone who says otherwise is a fucking liar.
I’m a lot of things. But I’m not strong. I’m a broken piece of shit who deserves nothing other than the finest of pain that Lucifer himself (Netflix Lucifer, of course….or also possibly Crowley…….🙃) has to offer.
I’m broken. I deserve nothing. Well, that’s not true. I deserve pain and heartbreak. (Fucking check and check).
My nighttime weight is less than my morning time weight. I guess that means I successfully failed to eat today. Now…where is it that I can self harm while not appearing to have actually having done so? Or maybe not. Not again.
Well fuck. Looks like I’ve filled you in on some more of my dirty secrets.
Not that it matters.
This post represents EVERYTHING that a sober version of myself absolutely despises.
Vulnerability, pain, honesty….
Hey? Fucking future self? Let this post stay. Just because it’s painful and brutal and honest doesn’t mean it isn’t true.
Like you tell your husband…
(Just because it’s uncomfortable doesn’t mean that it’s the end of the world.)
Actually posting this is hard as fuck.
But who am I to be a fucking hypocrite.
(But just one more drink.)….
….(Just one more. This time I mean it.)
Okay…this is the last one.
(Wait….what happened last night?)
An unfortunately familiar script.
5 thoughts on “Pour another drink. No, I meant one more. No really, just one more. Okay, maybe another.”
If I had any strength I would have written this post
❤️ strength is a very strange concept.
Broken crayons can still colour.
This is true. ❤️
However…if you ask my kids, they must be immediately be thrown away 😅