Drinking doesn't make me feel beautiful or important or wanted. It doesn't even make me feel special. It doesn't remedy anything besides monotony...and even this "remedy" comes at the risk of harm to myself or others.
So, why am I here, again? Lonliness.....pain...no one understands me. Isolation....no one truly takes me seriously. But, gin 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 lonliness...makes me feel a little less bored. It sikes 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 gin 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.
Drinking is usually a big production for me. These days, it seems to be the only time I feel I can let my pain out (then and when Nicky's leaving little marks on my body.) "These days," I have a hard time getting my feelings out. I wonder, someitmes, if I haven't dove intentionally into this darkness...because I'm just so ******* BORED....you know...for the "stimulation..." like....."Hey...babe! Take a walk on the wild side....."
Everybody just thinks I'm too wierd, too beautiful..."too good to be true." I believe I am a gift..a gift of love and Truth. I believe I have come to represent the goodness in all people and people feel anything but good about themselves. My honesty and real-ness symbolize hope...but no one has any...and, most people wouldn't trust "HOPE" past their own imaginations. So, I get discarded...just...left by the wayside to dance alone. Isn't THAT so poetic?? WOOOHOOO!! I feel blessed and cursed to be "so poetic." Sometimes, I thinkI'm best to just lock myself in a room and FORCE myself to turn my perspective into words...words that may touch, inspire, provoke better than I have been able to .... as a living, breathing PERSON with REAL love and life coarsing through my human veins. 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...It makes me less bothered about not knowing where to turn. I'm surrounded by a world-full of people who really BELIEVE I'm "crazy!!!" Where is my place?!?
I love thinking about Ernest Hemingway...because HE has made a respectable contribution and HE faced the same darkness. HE was persecuted by the stigma of mental illness but, he STILL effected the course of literary history. It makes me feel less damned.
So...where do I go from here? I mean, literally? There are so many beautiful Autumn colors. ( I have never loved Autumn more!) The river rushes by, with force and power...turning over on itself where the bed beneathe it bumps and drops...splashing white, in spots. Everything looks the color of a welcoming hearth. But, I can't touch the leaves, or taste them. The trees have no arms to wrap around me. Their beautiful, coarse bark does NOT make me feel all "warm and cozy." I can't talk to the grass or make it laugh. I dare say...all this wonderous life is not even aware that I exist....
Most times, it really feels like only I know that I exist.
...ifi only I could get passed the ache of that feeling, the allure of gin would surely be obliterated.