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Drunk

As I sit at the foot of the stairs I look into my last bottle, empty. Now useless, I throw it at my feet and hear the loud noise it makes when on connection with the others. I have relapsed, fallen victim to the bottle once again. I called you after finishing the third bottle and you knew once you heard my voice what was happening. You just hung up, leaving me to the mess I had become. I just downed more of my evil toxins, willing unconsciousness to come, but it didn’t. So I kept drinking. And drinking. God, I do this too much.

I stare at the door. I know it will open. I know you will walk through it. I know you will pick me up, dust me off and take me upstairs. I know you will wait while I vomit, hold my matted hair out of face, then wipe the grime off my skin. I know you will tenderly help me to bedroom, strip me of my dirty clothes and lie me in bed, hugging me closer then I could ever imagine. I know you will. You always do. It’s how we work. It’s how we always have worked. I call you when I’m broken and you fix me. You’re good at fixing me.

I do try to stop. You know I do. Don’t you? Oh god do I try. It hurts. I need my bottles, baby. But I try to stop, and you try to help me. Don’t you? Oh god do you try. It hurts you as much as it does me when I relapse and that in itself makes the pain even worse. I don’t want you to hurt, I want this to be my pain. But you won’t let it be mine. You never do. You always come, you always fix me and you always share my heavy load. Always. Even this time. You’ll come. I know you will. You always do. It’s how we work. It’s how we have always worked.

Why haven’t you come yet? There’s traffic isn’t there? I know it’s three in the morning, but there must be traffic. Otherwise you’d be here. I know you would. Because baby, that’s how we work. It’s how we have always worked.

I slip down a stair and hit my head. It hurts and I think it’s bleeding where my head hit the tiled stair. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re coming. And you’re going to fix it for me. You’ll wash it clean and kiss it better. You’ll fix everything. You’ll wash me clean; you’ll kiss me better. This will be the last time baby, I promise.

I know I shouldn’t promise. I promised last time, and here I am, not even a week later and I’m gone, more drunk than the week before and probably the week before that too. But this will be the last time. Oh god, now I’m making promises I know I can’t keep. What’s wrong with me? I don’t know. But you will fix me when you come baby, you’ll make it better. And I know you’re coming. It’s how we work. It’s how we have always worked.

If I were waiting for anyone else I would have given up by now. But I couldn’t be waiting for anyone else, because everyone else has already given up on me. Not you though. You keep picking me up. You keep putting me back together. You keep fixing me. You’re good at fixing me.

I’m drunker than last time. I’m dirtier than last time. And I’m more broken than last time. What if this time you can’t fix me? What if this time you don’t come? But I know that’s not right. It’s not right is it, baby? You’re going to come. You’re going to fix me. These dark thoughts in my head, they’re getting bigger, they’re scaring me. Please come, please scare them away before they scare my sanity away. Prove those thoughts that they’re wrong. That good does triumph. That you do care. I know you do. But they don’t, and they're starting to take control. 

I can feel my thoughts coming undone. I know they make no sense, but I can’t fix them. My mind is scaring itself, and I’m fighting on the inside. As I fight on the inside, the toxins begin rushing to pour back outside. I’m vomiting now baby, everything is coming up, my body is emptying itself. Even my last reserves of sanity are being emptied onto the cold, tiled floor. Why aren’t you here? You’re always here by now. You're supposed protect me from this crazy haze. You’re supposed to hold my hair while I vomit. You’re supposed to scare the monsters in my head away. You’re supposed to be here. You’re supposed to care. Aren’t you? 

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