As soon as I think it, the thought flees. Oh, it was the perfect opening; now an ethereal thought gone, maybe into outer space. What I do remember is that the water is boiling for the spaghetti. The grease is hot in the pan and the meat is sizzling. I am in the middle of this sentence and I have to leave the page to check dinner. Fuck. What I do know is that the ice is melting in this glass, watering the vodka down.
There is so much I do not know these days. I do not know if I will be alive and shivering in the coming Ice Age. I do not know if I will live penniless on the streets, although that is likely. I do not know this week’s winning lottery numbers, unfortunately. I could go on and on. What I do know for certain is that I am on a misdirected path. I am traveling backwards. I am struggling.
How do I look? Pictures of me will always be of how I used to look. What does it matter if it was taken one second or many, many years ago? My dreams don’t matter anymore. I have left them wallowing in sleep. I am living a continuous dream– no, I am living under water. The currents take me elsewhere, somewhere dark and bizarre. I am unfamiliar with the life forms that surround me. I am alien.
I have tried to make you happy. I have tried too long at the expense of my own sanity. You are hard, unyielding. Why can’t we speak to each other with kindness and respect? Why are you so afraid to connect intimately? I open my palms to you and you come at me with shards. You swing at my vulnerable veins with broken glass—
I am alone in the past and present, and will be alone (dead) in the future. As soon as I write it, I cower, and think to erase— I will always write of how I used to be. What feelings linger? What feelings persist?
I am struggling. Can’t you see that? I am asking for help. I am asking for you to be patient with me and help me through this relapse into sorrow, into that old, hate-fueled addiction. I am scared—can’t you see? Where is your humanity? Are you so callous and cynical that you have forgotten our vow? I thought five years sober was going to last longer. I give and give. I am empty now. I have given my all.
What else can I do?