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I knew what I was. I had seen myself becoming it. Watched myself mutate, slowly, over time into what now stared back at me every time that I looked in the mirror. Why had I become it? Who or what was to blame for it? I could pass the buck, but that would be cowardice, and anyway, what would be the point? Who am I trying to impress? Sure as hell not myself. Every morning I wake up and before I’ve even brushed the debris of yesterdays food from my chins greasy stubble I find myself filled with the same self-loathing and inevitable disappointment of what I’ll do that day.
Well, I say morning, but I would be lying if I said that it was for sure. Not that it makes any difference to me anyway. If I could, I would spend an eternity asleep, dreaming, living my life in a place where I could never let anyone down and where anything is possible. Throughout the day I find myself constantly closing my eyes in an attempt to drift once more into my world of dreams, knowing that this is the only time that I can experience the pure bliss that other more “normal” people experience every day with their families.
I remember when I was younger, living at home, being woken each morning for school by my mother yelling up the stairs about how I was going to be late. I remember opening my eyes and having to squint because the light of the new day would seem so apparent. Well now when I wake and open my eyes, no longer am I blinded by the sunshine, but rather swamped by thicker darkness then before. Time has no meaning for me. It could be dusk, dawn or noon for all I know. I live in my own constant nuclear fog.
Each time I wake I’ll look around my apartment and still be amazed every time as to how such a cluttered room can appear so empty, so devoid of any signs of life, a barren war-zone in which I play both sides of the conflict.
In my dreams I surround myself with people. I know that they’re not real even as I dream them. That they’re just figments of my imagination, but I draw comfort from them and that makes both them and the experience real enough for me, real enough to keep me going for the promise of further dreams.
I have only one real friend in this world, but she’s also my greatest enemy. She’s sweet, doesn’t judge me and makes me feel special about myself, but then she’ll turn on me in a second and reduce me to a crying mess. I’m an adult, and yet on a daily basis I’ll find myself weeping, sobbing like a child in a crowded Supermarket that has lost its mother, and it’s all because of this, what makes me me, my one defining trait, my battle with alcohol.
Well, I say morning, but I would be lying if I said that it was for sure. Not that it makes any difference to me anyway. If I could, I would spend an eternity asleep, dreaming, living my life in a place where I could never let anyone down and where anything is possible. Throughout the day I find myself constantly closing my eyes in an attempt to drift once more into my world of dreams, knowing that this is the only time that I can experience the pure bliss that other more “normal” people experience every day with their families.
I remember when I was younger, living at home, being woken each morning for school by my mother yelling up the stairs about how I was going to be late. I remember opening my eyes and having to squint because the light of the new day would seem so apparent. Well now when I wake and open my eyes, no longer am I blinded by the sunshine, but rather swamped by thicker darkness then before. Time has no meaning for me. It could be dusk, dawn or noon for all I know. I live in my own constant nuclear fog.
Each time I wake I’ll look around my apartment and still be amazed every time as to how such a cluttered room can appear so empty, so devoid of any signs of life, a barren war-zone in which I play both sides of the conflict.
In my dreams I surround myself with people. I know that they’re not real even as I dream them. That they’re just figments of my imagination, but I draw comfort from them and that makes both them and the experience real enough for me, real enough to keep me going for the promise of further dreams.
I have only one real friend in this world, but she’s also my greatest enemy. She’s sweet, doesn’t judge me and makes me feel special about myself, but then she’ll turn on me in a second and reduce me to a crying mess. I’m an adult, and yet on a daily basis I’ll find myself weeping, sobbing like a child in a crowded Supermarket that has lost its mother, and it’s all because of this, what makes me me, my one defining trait, my battle with alcohol.
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So...you liked it then?
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You do get that his other half is drink, right? :D
Edit:
You do get that his other half is drink, right? :D
Okay - I'd disagree with all three of you since Surrealguy managed to post before me.
I'd disagree with you both and do not think that his relationship with his other half would have added anything. She plays no part in his own self loathing other then to point his weakness out to him every so often.
There are some brutal truths in the first and last paragraphs.
There are some brutal truths in the first and last paragraphs.
*general agreement with wan*
Yeah I started this a while back with the intention of it being a bit longer, but I got to that point and just liked it as a little monologue, so I stopped.
I think there are weaknesses, changes of tone and such, but I felt happy that it was finished with thought that all he was is an alcoholic without him talking about the alcohol too much.
Ta for the thought.
I think there are weaknesses, changes of tone and such, but I felt happy that it was finished with thought that all he was is an alcoholic without him talking about the alcohol too much.
Ta for the thought.
An interesting slant, I would have liked to have seen more detail on your relationship with your siginificant other though.
I knew what I was. I had seen myself becoming it. Watched myself mutate, slowly, over time into what now stared back at me every time that I looked in the mirror. Why had I become it? Who or what was to blame for it? I could pass the buck, but that would be cowardice, and anyway, what would be the point? Who am I trying to impress? Sure as hell not myself. Every morning I wake up and before I’ve even brushed the debris of yesterdays food from my chins greasy stubble I find myself filled with the same self-loathing and inevitable disappointment of what I’ll do that day.
Well, I say morning, but I would be lying if I said that it was for sure. Not that it makes any difference to me anyway. If I could, I would spend an eternity asleep, dreaming, living my life in a place where I could never let anyone down and where anything is possible. Throughout the day I find myself constantly closing my eyes in an attempt to drift once more into my world of dreams, knowing that this is the only time that I can experience the pure bliss that other more “normal” people experience every day with their families.
I remember when I was younger, living at home, being woken each morning for school by my mother yelling up the stairs about how I was going to be late. I remember opening my eyes and having to squint because the light of the new day would seem so apparent. Well now when I wake and open my eyes, no longer am I blinded by the sunshine, but rather swamped by thicker darkness then before. Time has no meaning for me. It could be dusk, dawn or noon for all I know. I live in my own constant nuclear fog.
Each time I wake I’ll look around my apartment and still be amazed every time as to how such a cluttered room can appear so empty, so devoid of any signs of life, a barren war-zone in which I play both sides of the conflict.
In my dreams I surround myself with people. I know that they’re not real even as I dream them. That they’re just figments of my imagination, but I draw comfort from them and that makes both them and the experience real enough for me, real enough to keep me going for the promise of further dreams.
I have only one real friend in this world, but she’s also my greatest enemy. She’s sweet, doesn’t judge me and makes me feel special about myself, but then she’ll turn on me in a second and reduce me to a crying mess. I’m an adult, and yet on a daily basis I’ll find myself weeping, sobbing like a child in a crowded Supermarket that has lost its mother, and it’s all because of this, what makes me me, my one defining trait, my battle with alcohol.
Well, I say morning, but I would be lying if I said that it was for sure. Not that it makes any difference to me anyway. If I could, I would spend an eternity asleep, dreaming, living my life in a place where I could never let anyone down and where anything is possible. Throughout the day I find myself constantly closing my eyes in an attempt to drift once more into my world of dreams, knowing that this is the only time that I can experience the pure bliss that other more “normal” people experience every day with their families.
I remember when I was younger, living at home, being woken each morning for school by my mother yelling up the stairs about how I was going to be late. I remember opening my eyes and having to squint because the light of the new day would seem so apparent. Well now when I wake and open my eyes, no longer am I blinded by the sunshine, but rather swamped by thicker darkness then before. Time has no meaning for me. It could be dusk, dawn or noon for all I know. I live in my own constant nuclear fog.
Each time I wake I’ll look around my apartment and still be amazed every time as to how such a cluttered room can appear so empty, so devoid of any signs of life, a barren war-zone in which I play both sides of the conflict.
In my dreams I surround myself with people. I know that they’re not real even as I dream them. That they’re just figments of my imagination, but I draw comfort from them and that makes both them and the experience real enough for me, real enough to keep me going for the promise of further dreams.
I have only one real friend in this world, but she’s also my greatest enemy. She’s sweet, doesn’t judge me and makes me feel special about myself, but then she’ll turn on me in a second and reduce me to a crying mess. I’m an adult, and yet on a daily basis I’ll find myself weeping, sobbing like a child in a crowded Supermarket that has lost its mother, and it’s all because of this, what makes me me, my one defining trait, my battle with alcohol.
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