Posted: November 13, 2010 in proselytizaytion
Tags: , , ,

Refresh my faulty memory; how did we get past that unfortunate visit that ended with you angry enough to show it…and how did that encounter end, because I thought about it today, and don’t remember anything but the art on the walls in the poorly lit eatery where I ordered water but don’t remember what I ate.

At some point, will I stop remembering?

I know it’s not safe to embrace the part of me that’s so commonly called an illness.  When I fight it, it makes me uncomfortable.  When I let it flow, I feel at home.  Can you tell me?  Do you know?  I don’t think I need an outside answer anymore.

How did we get through that glitch?  How is it that you still interact with me?  Did I apologize for upsetting you?  What happened, and why can’t I remember?  If I sit here and think about it, I’ll come up with what we both ate and what you wore and how I was significantly late coming through traffic on 94.  I’ll remember just where we sat and how and every little detail, except…I don’t know what happened.

I open the door in the middle of the night, sick and in need of the bathroom down the hall.  No one is home, but I hear voices.  I know that no one is home, but I hear them.  Denying it does no good.  I shut the door and wait for morning.  It’s safe in my room.  Safe?  Quiet.  Logic doesn’t help me with things that aren’t here, aren’t real, aren’t.  Aren’t.  I’ve used the word too frequently and it’s turned into a rutting pig grunt.

Aren’t, aren’t.

The urge to drink has resurfaced, and I wonder if all things run in these cycles.  Is it because I haven’t addressed anything?  I thought I had.  I thought I was trying.  Maybe I never.  Don’t know.  I just don’t know anymore if I ever did know anything at all.  So many absolutes.  Red flags.  Indicative of trigger phrases that spiral into unhealthy realms.  Sometimes then.  Sometimes, I’m not so sure…

That’s all.


Comments are closed.