My hands have stopped shaking. I don't know if it is because I stopped drinking so much or because you're gone or because I'm happy. I'm just glad my hands have stopped shaking.
I pick up my phone to text you. Help me — I know you’ll know just how to fix this mess I’ve found myself in. It takes a moment to remember. I can’t text you because it’s you that needs fixing. It’s you I can’t figure out — my person, my mess who’s not mine anymore. That moment lasts a long time. I put down my phone.
So easy in fact that you thought about it hundreds of times in silence so I never knew. It was so very easy for you to be so cruel for you to cut the cord burn the bridge salt the earth and leave me behind. It may have been easy it must have been easy to walk away and leave me to wither in your wake. So: Fuck “easy” and your silence and your salted earth. Because although it will not be easy I promise you I will grow anyway.
Because when I drank it, I got far too angry. At you. At the world. I screamed at you from the chair that had once belonged to my father, telling you how I could listen to my music as loud as I damned well pleased, thank you very much. You retreated, defeated, and I kept drinking Jack Daniels, alone. Because it gave me carte blanche to behave terribly. “It’s not my fault,” I thought, numb. “I was drinking whiskey." I could excuse all the terrible things I said, the people I embarrassed, the scenes I caused. “I was drinking whiskey,
It feels like your insides are on the outside and you’re drowning in your own blood. Everything is too loud, too bright, too much. You want to die but you don't and each breath becomes a trial. It feels like you’ve lost your mind. You cry, you scream, you make a spectacle of yourself. You’re embarrassed, you’re embarrassing. The tears on your face are drying and you have no more left. It feels like you’re walking on glass in your bare feet and there are so many miles left to go. There is a fork in the road; one leads