This is the insanely corny shit I have to tell myself on an hourly basis, as to not destroy my life. I try time and time again to find that loophole, hoping i'm actually not this run of the mill alcoholic that everybody keeps saying I am. I want to be different, not different like "just have wine with dinner" different. I absolutely know with every hair on my asshole that I would have a better chance of surviving a month of unprotected sex in Brazil, than I ever would of ingesting any type of mood altering substance ever again. The only time it completely sucks is when I'm in a situation like I am right now... On the couch, watching "Which ones Pink" on Vh1 Classics, in Des Moines Ia. No better situation to be stoned in. Just smoke a joint, eat some ice cream, and wish I was getting a blow job.
I want a new brain. I want a brain that shows me how talented I am, I want a brain that automatically tells me to do 50 push ups as soon as I wake up in the morning and have a glass of orange juice. Instead I have a brain that totally thinks about doing that the night before, but then as soon as I wake up makes me have a cup of coffee and a cigarette. I haven't been to a meeting in months, and my brain is as dry as a rock in the woods. This is the loophole I speak of. I think that just because I haven't touched drugs or alcohol in a few years, that I don't need to do what I'm supposed to do and everything will be fine. Once again I am reminded that it wasn't the booze and heroin that was my problem, that was all the solution. The only solution to this problem is the same fucking thing that has worked for a million other dickfucks just like me... helping people. All my old ideas are coming back strong, and sound pretty genius. I will start acting out slowly, maybe just a little to much jerking off at first, then the isolation kicks in, because who the fuck wants to hang out with my miserable ass anyway right? Then I just stop hanging out all together so that when I actually do drink, everyone expected it to happen anyway and it's not that big a surprise.
The first shot of whiskey is always the deceiver. As my tongue smacks the cool burn on my lips, the fire flows down slowly into my stomach. Giving me the deepest breath in I have taken in years, followed by an exhale of complete relief as my hands rest gently on the edge of the sticky wood that corners the entire bar. I stare into the empty shotglass realizing what I had done, and all the time I had just lost. But the warmth of the burn is so overpowering that I must order just one more, before my search for cocaine begins. Before I know it I am laughing and carrying on with all the people I couldn't stand for years, like I had never left. I wake up on a dirty couch with the light scent of cat urine floating in the air, and a girl with a shitty Hollywood mohawk and red bumps around her vagina. I am still drunk from the night before so the shame doesn't fully set in like it should. Once I realize that I have no place to go, because now I'm "loaded" and can't hang out with nay of my sober friends without it turning into some bummer of a lecture or a trip to another rehab, then the shame starts to kick my ass, and no amount of booze in the world can cover that up. It is kinda fun to try for a while though.
I finally come back to the place where we don't drink and am greeted with judgmental hugs and pats on the back by people who are stoked to now have more time than me, as the real friends look at me and say "how was it?" Fuck you.... that's how it was.
The novelty of being a newcomer isn't so novel anymore, I am feeling the full affects of shame and regret, wanting to hide under a rock until I have a year again. The year finally arrives and it's not enough... I need more time. It will never be enough, whether it's a year, a cigarette, a girl, a donut, a cup of coffee, a pair of jeans, an episode of Dexter, anything.... The only thing that will ever be enough is something that goes against every grain in my soul... helping people.
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