...good question. I don’t even want to think abut the answer to that. I fear that the answer would be too disappointing. That it might “lessen” my opinion of myself… how myself views...myself that's a joke. Hah. Wow. Next topic.
When I drink… no, when I am alone – truly alone, and I drink, I think of certain things. Things that make me cry. It’s like my teenage autopilot kicks in and I’m 17 again. The only difference is 20 years and the fact that now I kind of decide which little daggers I allow to come at me from every angle. And I just let them go/come – all of them, all at once. This happens every time I am alone, without fail. Be it vacation, a holiday, a day off of work – it doesn’t matter. Apparently - - this is what I live for. This is what I work for...moments when I can release my daggers. And then I work so very hard to cover up the scars that the daggers leave behind. The thing is, is that I enjoy the process. I start off with the most painful memories and top it off with all of the things that I should have done and shouldn’t have done. Throw in a dash of what I could have done differently. It’s a no-fail recipe. Suddenly, I long, I want, I regret, I dream, I wish, I envelope myself in turmoil that in my day-to-day life is long gone. But suddenly I am - again. And all of the days that I spend smiling and doing things for others fades away… my job, my polite way of always looking down at the ground when passing strangers, all of the times I hold my tongue - - that all disappears and suddenly I become a real person. A real person to me. Bent and destroyed. Damaged and broken. And in a way, beautiful and real.
