#drunkconfessions

I seem to pen you only when I’m intoxicated and pretending o have it all together. When i act pike im all cool calm and collected. When I can’t see straight but the thoights dont stop. I amoke to feel quiet but when i drink my mind fonds every inch of the universe so i can explore. When its 2 am and all im doing is standing her making mac and cheese. I feel like I’m never surprised mentally when you waste time with me or dont care. But emotionally I’m shocked. Why? Idk because im a dumb bitch?

Its sad. I have people throwing themselves at me including close to you people and yet because its not you I’m mot wanted. Because you dont want to be my friend, i feel alone. Because I’m only good emough to sleep with you but not hang out with you. Because seeing you at work is the only thing that I’m worth to you. And even then I’m barely a coworker. We dont speak like himans anymore yet here i am excpecting us to be friends.

What a pesky F-word. Friends. What does it even mean? Whats the point of identifying someone close to you. You were someone i enjoyed being around but friend? I’d barely call us that. We were always on the fence of friends or more. And at sometimes it was less. Very less. But apologies make up the entire difference in this story. The apologies meant more than the entire sun at that moment. Wven when it wasn’t worth a penny. To me it was everything.

To bad that pesky f-word got in thw way. “Friends” new and old it seemed to make the decision on our f-word. It seemed to have ripped us apart.

All i want is an A-word. I only want A-words from now on.

Apologies and Answers; two things that will seem to never flow from your mouth. Tqo things that seem to be a distant concept.

Two things that hold no value to you... yet to me they hold the entire world.

What a shit person I am. I put the blame all of you as if you’re doing something wrong, right? I’m to annoying, I’m to wrapped up in you when you make it BERY clear you could gove two shits less, i care to much about someone who barely even is coworkers. I care to much. ThTs the problem here.

I’m a spastic, lonely, dumb, person.

I want to talk to you. I want to feel like this could mean something. But I can’t. You make it bery clear that I don’t even deserve two seconds for text response. You use to be my friend, my coworker, and my answers.

Now we’re barely any of those things and I’m tired.

My dummy self responds drunk knowing you won’t be able to resist. My phone gets snatched by a friend.

-thank god-

Now I’m sitting here at 4 am and my thoughts are filled with you... and I’ve re-added you on all social media. Why?

Is it true drunk minds speak sober thoughts? Or did you bait me the way i baited you?

I miss you. Even if it’s just our friendship i miss.

I miss movie “dates” i add quotes because they’re only dates in the view of the world in your eyes I’m sure they’re normal.

I miss us talking. Even if its just a few words here and there.

I miss everything that was a production of our friendship.

Tonight my friend accidentally called you from my phone. Clearly you answered and when I didn’t respond you texted me seeing if I was being stupid or if it was actually important. Why? If you didn’t care you wouldnt have even texted me right?

Why do i hear from others that you’re still talking about the whole things 3 weeks later? Why do i hear that you still want to try to be friends but you wont tell me yourself?

I have a grown woman looking in... and she said she thinks you have feelings but you’re not ready to give me a chance. Why is god (or a higher power) having her say that to me?

Why is it something I have to hear? Is she saying this because she thinks it’s something that will help?

Every time I drank, I wanted to lose inhibitions yes, maybe be more social and forward yes, be loose and laughing yes, but mostly I wanted to keep drinking until I went into a deep, dark place.  It was different than blacking out and losing time or passing out somewhere and waking up on a couch or on the bathroom floor.  I liked to be in bed, in my room, spinning in the dark and feeling myself sink further and further into a place where my mind didn’t race and I didn’t dream and I could be at peace.  A small taste of death.

After my surgery I would do the same thing with the painkillers.  Granted, I was in real physical pain, but I would always pop a few extra before bed.  I’d be swimming in warmth, suddenly okay with the fact that I was permanently disfigured and just...okay with everything.

Too often I find myself chasing my breath and silently, desperately trying to get my thoughts under control, panicking in some grocery store aisle or at the gym.  Everything disintegrates, death is certain, one day no one will remember, one day there will be no such thing as memory.  And I can’t go one day without those thoughts slapping me in the face like a dead fish.

I can beat the drink, I can beat the taste, I can beat the gallons of death waiting for me.

I can’t beat what makes me a drinker though.  I can’t beat the doubts, the inadequacies, the fears.  As long as I am Me, I will be a drinker.

And some nights all that can be done is for me to seek that self destruction.  No gym, no friends, no books, no Netflix, no stupid distractions from what I really want to do.

I can only run so far before the wolves catch up, and as they surround me, as their howls dissipate when they see their prey is won, they near me and begin to whisper over and over...