If I drank I would be amazing. If I drank I could conquer the world. If I drank I would be poetic, I would be love. If I drank my life would no longer need purpose. I could be swimmingly drunk on whisky, dancing about my golden apartment in the highest of highs, like as if I was on clouds and the world beneath me but a memory of the tragedy I called my existence. If I drank there would be no questioning of my validity in life, I would not care of these lonely nights. I would be everything I dreamed of and this computer, this computer would be a voice so loud god himself would take notice of me. If I drank all my problems would disappear, I would plainly no longer care.
It would be a simple no caring, if that’s even a thing, no caring. If it wasn’t I would be the inventor of it, it would become a thing and I would be on late night talk shows, with my whisky, telling the host where no caring came from. “See Jimmy, it comes from letting go and being drunk, here watch” I’d take a sip of my drink, savor its flavor as it slowly burned down my throat and the vail of no caring would wash over my eyes. The crowd clap, Jimmy would stammer his words, clap his hands and ask me to teach him this new found happiness. I’d say “Jimmy! This is something that can’t be taught, it has to be earned, worked at through years of caring, of wearing your heart on your sleeve, saving souls who never wanted to be saved in the first place. It comes from setting yourself not second, not third but fourth or fifth, from abandoning your happiness, self sacrifice to the point where you are no longer sure of anything…”
I would be pretty and delicate and you would care for me, you would care for me in a way that it actually felt like you did. I mean the whole world could be at my doorstep with their love and compassion and I still wouldn’t feel it, but if I drank, drank the magical elixirs of life – one glass, two glass, three glass four – well I would know your love. As it stands now though, well your love is that of tracing paper, thin and weak, transparent. I cannot be fooled in this state of heightened awareness. My phone rings for sex or money or favors most of the time and I have none of any of that to give. But if I DRANK! I would fuck my way through San Luis and down the coast to Los Angeles with money falling out my pockets while doing whatever you asked of me. I would not care. No caring of the truth, the lie or the story in between. “Say what you will my friend, I will agree and laugh and love and roast on the spit of deaf dumb and stupid with you”. Maybe then I will be lovable, maybe then I will be carefree, I’ll be silent. Maybe then the voices will cease and nothing will matter.
I’m quite certain the fear will disappear, yes, I am certain of this. “There will be no fear in my golden home” where the walls and floors, cabinets and creations remind me of the sun about to set on warm summer days. Reminding me of the Santa Ana winds, of long blond hair in the streetlights, Atascadero nights. Reminds me of the times when I didn’t have a care in the world, where drinking was not a thought, where running was not a thought, where fear didn’t not contort my reality and self-obsession was hidden so deep in me I thought I was actually a good person. I have a broken compensator nut, this is actually a part on a motorcycle, maybe on most engines and mechanical doo-hickies. It compensates. Mine is broken. It has been broken for as long as I can remember. It’s either underachieving or overachieving, the gray of my compensator nut is none existent most days. Hence the reason I quit drinking, hence the reason I buy your affection, hence the reason I never know what is too far, hence the mother fuck’n reason I am who I am. I’m the atom, life is the neutron and the results of the combination is my existence…
Thankfully I can only keep this train of thought going for so long. Cuz honestly tho (as if I have been lying to you) I can’t think this, write this or even live this without the thought of being so completely self-obsessed, self-centered, egotistical, self-righteous – all the uglies you can think of. I want to wallow in the misery of my life but I’ve no right to, not the tiniest of rights to complain for one second. I get so sick of my self sometimes, I feel ugly when I fall into this trap of self-pity. I tend to forget how amazing my life is, how blessed I am to be able to breath on my own, to be able to walk; you know yesterday I had a cookie from Starbucks, I mean a cookie from Starbucks, not everyone gets to do that.
I’ve been told for the last 21 years that it’s my disease of addiction that is slowly killing me in these times of self-obsession, in this ungratefulness I go through. That may be true, but really, I don’t rightly care what the lable is, I care about how to change, how to get out of it. Maybe all the work I’ve done on self has something to do with moving on from it, maybe it’s the compassion for others that I seek, maybe my bleeding heart is wiser than me. Do I want to not care at times, yes. Do I want to fuck it all way and spend my way into homelessness, at times yes. But really, is that where my happiness lays? Is that where I was meant to be? Can I go back there for just a few weeks and then pick back up where I left off, easy no on that one. It’s within these walls where I live, that’s where the insanity starts. Trapped in the garage, for years upon decades trapped in the garage. I’m either trapped in the garage romancing life outside of it or in life dreaming of hiding out in the garage, completely self-obsessed.
I wonder, what if always trying to be for others is the way I am avoiding being with myself. Ya know, like I don’t know how to deal with the crazy that stews in my head so I spend most my time trying to be for you. I wonder if being selfless is actually a character defect…
I really went all the way down the rabbit hole on this one. Yesterday morning I started this thought of drinking, this morning I had a completely different perspective on it all. This is probly a good thing, people want to hear the positive, they most always want the storybook finish, to see the phoenix rise from the ashes and so do I. I want the storybook ending throughout my life, I want love and happiness and good fortune – for myself and everyone around me. But that’s not always the reality. The reality is sometimes I want to be swimmingly drunk, the reality is ever since my divorce my life has been a whirlwind of pleasure and pain and the crazy unknown. The reality is at times I am lonely, I live in fear, I have low self-esteem. The reality is some days I just want to run away from it all. Yet feelings are not facts and I deserve the best I am capable of giving myself and my capability is far beyond anything I think I am capable of. The reality is it’s just life and I shouldn’t take it so seriously. A life lived is one of experiences, no matter what they are. There is no right way to feel, no wrong way, no good thought or bad thought, no good choice or bad choice. There is just now, right now. This moment will fade and with it the feelings, new thoughts will arise with new feelings and a new moment will materialize for me to watch, to experience. So ensues the cycle of my existence. I am blessed beyond measure 🙏🏻
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