19.5 hours in…. clarity never lasts

I set in JB’s driveway with my engine lightly running and the radio barely on. I dialed the familiar number and after the second ring he picked up.

Hello.

Music, laughter… party in the background.

I’m here, I said as non-broken as possible.

I’ll be there in a minute.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach… my mouth was dry, hands shaky. Hot Roomie looked at me from the passenger seat and asked “are you ok.”

I nodded… but we both knew I was lying. In the darkness we watched as a dark figure approached. He ran, and stumbled a bit down the hill while he chugged a beer quickly.

Nice, Hot Roomie said.

It made me feel sad. Because I knew… in that moment I knew what he was doing because he had told me how he had done it a million times. His personal form of self-destruction, burying everything under a bottle of liquor. And it hurt me to see him like this. To witness it, because I had never had to… and it dawned on me. Maybe he’s been seeking self-destruction again, and didn’t want to drag me down with him. Maybe he’s trying to save me from him. Maybe he’s hurt and angry and confused and is trying to hide it in the aluminum can of a Bud Lite…

And maybe he’s just a drunk who was tired of not partying all night and having a fiance who barely drinks. Maybe he decided his social life was more important then me. Maybe he really just doesn’t love me…

He approached the car, handed me the cutting board and I handed him the movie. “Thanks,” I said and rolled the window back up.

And for a moment, a brief brisk moment I saw him look back at me as he stepped into his car… and I could breath.

I held it together long enough to turn the corner and stop at the red light. I couldn’t breath, the tears started to come, the pain grew and it felt like the tiny shattered pieces of my heart were scratching away on my insides.

I started the 20th hour with a Woo Woo shot at Midtowns with Hot Roomie. Next to my shot was a Jack and Coke, in front of me a plate of nachos I never touched. I finished the 20th hour with six Woo Woo shots, three jack and cokes, and two beers.

The 21st hour included a trip to Target, where I bought wine, sleepMD, and chocolate sauce. At home I had the love of my cousin and good friend waiting for me. I sat on my bed and cried as I relayed the story, again. And they laughed at my foolish attempts to pronounce words through my drunkenness… and built up my self esteem as best they could.

Hot Roomie made brownies, and brought me water and I changed my facebook status to “Kirby has some amazing friends… and a low low acohol tolerance since she stopped drinking.”

Sometime around the 23rd hour I passed out, and drunkenly slept through the 24 hour mark. One day down.

I woke around 5 am from a dream. It took a moment for me to realize where I was, and that it was just a dream. I wanted to go back to sleep so badly, I liked that dream. A dream of us. I looked down into the floor and saw the puppy looking up at me. I’ve had him so worried.

I got up, fumbled around, drank water, got sick, watched TV and then got onto Facebook. His status, changed five minutes after mine…. Livn the fuck up…

And it had me thinking. I’m trying to put up a strong front and act like nothing is wrong because I want to hold on to my pride. I don’t want to listen to the I told You SO’s… I don’t want him to see me weak, because he’s not showing weakness either

And maybe I should just be honest, and show the breaking inside, because maybe he’s breaking too.

God this isn’t helping. This was suppose to be therapeutic. Help me process, and not sit in my own ideas of how it should be or could be.

I’m passing the sad phase and barreling towards anger. But, I don’t wanna be mad at him. And that sucks.

~ by kirbyrice on December 9, 2008.