You can call me Crash.
This is an exercise in figuring it all out.
I went to a meeting and decided that today would be the day that I said “shove it” to my program. (which in all honesty I haven’t been working to the best of my ability for the last two weeks.)
I got a little cash in hand, always a dangerous place for me, and I was going to go out and reward myself for 61 days clean and sober by having a few drinks.
Then I logged onto facebook, saw a picture of one of my heavy drinking friends, and realized how dead she looks. Her skin is grey and her eyes are dark and sunken.
When I got home from rehab a friend commented on how much better my skin looked, that I didn’t look grey anymore. I was shocked; I got complimented on my skin many times in the weeks before entering treatment, and I’d had no idea.
Do I want a drink? Hell yes I want a drink. I want to lose control and have a reason for the misery that’s still swallowing me. But will I?
No, because I’ll be damned if I walk around looking dead while pretending I’m living life.
Where the fuck is that pink cloud? Where are the promises at? I’m sick to death of dealing with life’s bullshit with no way to forget it and pretend it isn’t there.
Tomorrow I’m moving back in with my parents because apparently going to treatment was a ‘vacation’ and all our financial problems are completely my fault. I’m getting zero support at home, I’m exhausted, and I’ll be lucky if I make $300 a month with the hours I’m getting. FUCK THIS I WANT A DRINK.