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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 my teeth I’m 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 get some sleep, 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. Opening my eyes and having to squint because the light of the new day would seem so apparent. Well now, when I wake up and open my eyes, no longer am I blinded by the sunshine, but rather swamped by thicker darkness then before. 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.
In my dreams, I surround myself with people. I know that they’re not real, that they’re just figments of my imagination, but I draw comfort from them, and that makes them real enough to me, real enough to keep me going.
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 that’s lost it’s mother, and it’s all because of this, my one defining trait, my battle with alcohol.
********************************************
I've posted this before, but I came across it again today and added a paragraph. I want to take the story further, but as it is the last line just had me cringing with the cheese.
Advice please.
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 get some sleep, 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. Opening my eyes and having to squint because the light of the new day would seem so apparent. Well now, when I wake up and open my eyes, no longer am I blinded by the sunshine, but rather swamped by thicker darkness then before. 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.
In my dreams, I surround myself with people. I know that they’re not real, that they’re just figments of my imagination, but I draw comfort from them, and that makes them real enough to me, real enough to keep me going.
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 that’s lost it’s mother, and it’s all because of this, my one defining trait, my battle with alcohol.
********************************************
I've posted this before, but I came across it again today and added a paragraph. I want to take the story further, but as it is the last line just had me cringing with the cheese.
Advice please.
Thanks, but it just sounded a little too, American cheese for me. Maybe it will grow on me.
The last paragraph was great. Very thought provoking passage, and very true I would say.
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 my teeth I’m 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 get some sleep, 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. Opening my eyes and having to squint because the light of the new day would seem so apparent. Well now, when I wake up and open my eyes, no longer am I blinded by the sunshine, but rather swamped by thicker darkness then before. 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.
In my dreams, I surround myself with people. I know that they’re not real, that they’re just figments of my imagination, but I draw comfort from them, and that makes them real enough to me, real enough to keep me going.
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 that’s lost it’s mother, and it’s all because of this, my one defining trait, my battle with alcohol.
********************************************
I've posted this before, but I came across it again today and added a paragraph. I want to take the story further, but as it is the last line just had me cringing with the cheese.
Advice please.
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 get some sleep, 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. Opening my eyes and having to squint because the light of the new day would seem so apparent. Well now, when I wake up and open my eyes, no longer am I blinded by the sunshine, but rather swamped by thicker darkness then before. 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.
In my dreams, I surround myself with people. I know that they’re not real, that they’re just figments of my imagination, but I draw comfort from them, and that makes them real enough to me, real enough to keep me going.
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 that’s lost it’s mother, and it’s all because of this, my one defining trait, my battle with alcohol.
********************************************
I've posted this before, but I came across it again today and added a paragraph. I want to take the story further, but as it is the last line just had me cringing with the cheese.
Advice please.