My drinking make me feel beautiful or important or wanted. It doesn’t even make me feel special. It doesn’t remedy anything.
Isolation, takes me seriously. But,vodka doesn’t ask any questions. It doesn’t pull away from me when I reach for it. It just is. And, it just “does” whatever it does. It eases….it eases my loneliness…makes me feel a little less bored. It fools me into believing that I don’t have to think about tomorrow…at least for this one moment…these few moments when I know the bottle’s not empty…as long as there’s still vodka in that little pint…as long as there’s a gas station with a tall can of beer for a dollar…if there’s nothing else (which, there usually isn’t) and I’ve gotten that – desperate – then there’s always that to look forward to.
The allure whispers ,
I feel destined to live a life of solitude where no one can reach me because I have proven to be incapable of reaching people.
So, I turn to this poison…it quiets the conviction in my heart.
Stuck in the moment , a huge run in my pantyhose, dry lips and the doorbell rings. Rewind, what is all this ?
Medication needed, relapse greeted.
Shut the door
( I found this today, I wrote it a months before going to Castle Craig. Sometimes , I still can feel this way .Only today, I fight my demons bit harder )