It’s 4 p.m. on a Sunday, and I’ve busted out the gin. Yeah, problem by problem fixed with a temporary salve of ounce by ounce.
I never thought I’d become the type that would become that type. As it stands right now, drinking time is the only time we get along. I forget that he makes me feel like shit, I forget he makes me so frustrated and angry that I start to shake. In return, his jokes and his abrasive personality seem more bearable, in an intoxicated distant persona. This is the problem with any kind of self-destructive habits, I suppose. It gives you a persona, a distance from reality. I used to think it was just shitty coping mechanisms, but now I realize. Of course, after half a glass of straight gin, I don’t necessarily have a drinking problem yet either.
I just need to get this shit done with. I’m tired. I want my old life back. I’d do anything to only feel sad because I wasn’t getting laid more than once every three months at the longest. That was all I was upset about. If I could pretty please have that life back, I’d do more with it. Promise. I’d do everything I constantly put off for the wrong priority, regularly with a tight schedule. And, I’d never want anyone ever again. If this is what “happily ever after” is, well, I’d just as soon drive into oncoming traffic. I can see it in my mind’s eye sometimes, and know fully well, unfortunately, that it’s a horrible solution. You can’t get someone to let you go, leave you alone, by getting laid up in traction. Drinking problems however, when you think about it, “not only hurt you, but the people around you.”
See, that shit’s gold. If I start drinking for reals-reals, and not for play-play, maybe then he’ll leave me. I may destroy my life in the process, but hey, isn’t that what I’ve been doing inadvertently all along? It makes perfect sense.
I had an interesting thought the other day. He, before turning over and passing out, mentioned, “I just hope you’re not cheating on me, physically or emotionally.” This thought I had centered around that idea of emotional infidelity– it was weird, because when I think about it, I feel like I’m emotionally infidelitous with everyone I encounter who isn’t him. The reason being I realized, was that no one in the world seems as incapable of human connection or normal conversation than he is.
I’ve drunk six ounces of gin in the last twenty minutes. Go superstar! What a role model I feel like right now.
26 minutes after four– ten ounces gone. 44 minutes after 4, 1/3 of bottle left.
If this isn’t an indicator that I need you to leave, I don’t know what is.
