Control? Yeah, sure.

There is so little in my life that I have a say in. That I can influence. Or sway.

Or…control.

My life is…largely…out my of hands.

People abusing you. Raping you. Hurting you.

People thinking they can do whatever it is that they want to you. To hurt you. Because…I don’t matter. Only they do.

My health. My kids health…none of it good. (This is where we say FUCK YOU to genetic disorders.)

But what I can control? Is how much I drink. Or pills. Or hurt myself.

I can self medicate. I can numb my feelings. Shit, I can even pretend that everything is fine!

Drink it away. Numb it down.

Life isn’t hard if you black out every night, right?

If you pass out every night from drinking…as opposed to falling asleep like a normal person…right?

Yes, yes. I’m in control of my drinking.

Of course I am!!!

I’m controlling my decision to not give a single fuck.

To drink my fucking life away. Mix it with some pills. Cut a little. Do whatever else.

Sure. It’s control if I say so…right?

Yeah, okay. We can all pretend here.

I wish I could share what happened tonight.

I knew it was going to. I heard it coming, and I took a voice recording. I’d share it if I thought it would mean anything.

But I know it wouldn’t.

I got lucky tonight.

It could’ve been worse. And I got lucky.

I got lucky.

And I have absolutely no control over my life, or what happens to me.

It’s terrifying.

So I’ll just keep on pretending that I can control alcohol. And how much I drink.

Even when I know damn well that it’s alcohol that’s controlling me.

When shit hits the fan…and everything is terrifying and scary…the only thing I know how to do is drink it away.

I wish I had an answer other than alcohol. But I don’t.

I don’t have control. Or a say. Or a fucking chance.

All I can do is self medicate. And try to survive.