Drinking and Sinking

Bottle after bottle, can by can. 

I’ve been trying to drown out the problems in my head, but with each drop of liquid courage, each drop of incapacitating fluid, they just scream louder.

Anxiety. Insecurity. Depression. Anger. Hostility. 

As the night wears on, I go through all different emotions.

First, I have fun. Laughing, dancing, talking. I can be the life of the party.

Then, I get angry. Something sets me off. Something stupid. Something that shouldn’t because I know better than that. I’m not always irrational. But with those searing drinks swirling through my system, I can’t help myself.

We fight.

Then I get sad. I cry. I spiral downward. I go home and force myself to puke and try unsuccessfully to sort through what even happened. Why did we fight? Why did I get mad? What is wrong with me?

I’m too proud. I won’t admit I was wrong. Instead, I stay mad. Spread my anger to others. Start a juvenile campaign against you.

And for what? What do I gain? Where is the benefit?

In the end, both of us lose.

I panic. I was wrong, but I don’t know what to do. I crash. I lay in bed. I get angry at myself. I won’t talk to you. But I miss you. We all miss you. But I started something that I cannot easily stop.

To stop this tidal wave, I must foreclose on something I’m not willing to give up.

My pride.

So, I go out another night.

I sit at the bar. Bottle after bottle. Can by can.

And try to make sense again.

 

With love, XOXO.