Alcoholism is a Bitch.

My heart hurts. Deep to the core, I feel this throbbing darkness. I fear that it is something I won’t ever be able to escape. My eyes feel heavy and sullen underneath. My breathing is shallow and weak. I try to think. I try to have a thought, any thought. My mind is foggy; dense. I cannot organize a single thought.

 

I am back at that place where I burst into tears, my heart swollen with sadness; and yet I cannot identify the meaning of it. The moments leading up to this consuming expression I like to think were a state of contentedness. I am aware that “happiness” is a fluid state. Of course, there are many facets of life that affect these states. Occurings that soak into our souls no matter what we do.

 

Alcoholism. Let me say, alcoholism is a bitch. It is a disease that seeps into the cracks of your heart, your home, your loves, your life. I have moved states. I have built myself a life away from its devouring wickedness. And yet, there is no escape. Alcoholism is a bitch. That 5 am call that someone you love may be D.O.A. to where ever they are being taken. That 3 pm call of slurred mess that only raises cause for alarm. And allowing for absolutely no room to remedy the situation. Those moments I understand. THAT is something I can react to.

 

It is that consuming expression that creeps out of the shadows when you think you finally have more than just that one moment of contentedness. You have managed the darkness; kept it at bay. But like the disease that it is, it is a habit of dysfunction. I cannot escape it. It is attached to things I love and I don’t want to give those up. So, my heart hurts. I don’t want to shut my soul off to feeling, so I can do nothing but allow for these moments of consuming expression.

 

I cry. I breathe. All I can do is take a deep breath. I will try to remind myself that “feelings” are ever-changing.


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