That moment when you realize you’ve lost yourself to booze and you can’t wait to start living again.
Letting go of the things you love.
Lately i’ve been having dreams about killing my rats. I’m starting to feel really guilty about all of this. The other day i woke from a dream of putting a tiny mouse to sleep. I held him in my hands after, and all of a sudden he came back to life. it startled me and i threw it on the ground and stomped on him. I think all of this is about the fact that i have to put Elliott to sleep. I really can’t fathom living without him and the thought of it breaks my heart. Not only will this affect me, but Fredrick as well…. What will he do when his partner is gone? will he be lonely? will he slip into a depression and let himself go? just pass away in his sleep? i was told that this sometimes happens. All i want is for the tumor to go away. I sat on my bed drunk one night.. just holding him and crying. Wishing there was a way i could save him. Wishing the tumor would shrink and disappear. I wanted to scream.. But instead i sat there a quiet sobbing mess. I prayed. I hate when i do this sort of thing.. get upset and ask god for help. I don’t believe in god. But perhaps in the back of my mind i do. Wishing and praying gets you nowhere. All i want is for my rats to live. For them to have more time. I don’t want to keep him alive for me.. but he seems perfectly fine. Yes, the tumor affects the way he walks.. But he’s still eating and moving and if you didn’t notice the tumor,you’d assume he was perfectly okay. So am i keeping him alive for me? i don’t know. I wish someone could tell me. I wish someone could give me the answers i need. But i really just want to hear what i want to hear.
I hate that animals have different life expectancies. Is it fair that birds can live up to one hundred years and your dog can barely make it to thirteen. Life isn’t fair. And the fact that a stupid creature that sits on a cage all day and does nothing, will outlive a creature that is your best friend. My dog is around fourteen years old and quickly slipping into senility. I remember when she would lie by me and comfort me when i could barely open my eyes in the morning. When i couldn’t take living anymore. A few years ago i remember looking at her and the tears started to flow. Knowing that this loving, beautiful creature would eventually leave me. That she was losing who she was. She’s getting to the point where she hides behind my mother, or under the table and just shakes in fear. Fear of what. she has so much anxiety and i wish i knew where it comes from. or the exact moment when it started.The exact reason why it started. When the power was off for a week and the thunder echoed through the house.. we stayed under the covers and cuddled each other. she’d whimper but i know that she understood that i would always protect her. We would just lay in bed and i’d rub her stomach and feed her bones.. and now i have a hard time being around her. she’s lost herself and i feel so guilty for not living at home. for not coming around anymore. If she dies, i won’t see her in that exact moment of death. to be the last thing she sees when she leaves this world. i want her to feel comforted in that moment. I hope i can be there for her.. Do that for her..
Which brings me back to my rats… When i called the vet, i asked if i could be in the room when they put elliott to sleep.. They said that that would be perfectly fine.. But i don’t know if i could take looking him in the eyes when he passes. I feel like I’ve been a terrible friend to him. When I moved into my place i got really depressed and lost interest in everything. I barely took the boys out of their cage.. I wish i could have done more. Have been better. I don’t know if i would be of any comfort to him. It pains me to even think about any of this.. And i’m supposed to put him down today…
why can’t i write…? i wonder if it’s because of my happiness with you. i’ve only been good at writing when i’m miserable. At the moment i’m a broke, functioning, happy alcoholic. but sometimes i wish i was deep in my depression. i could write a book.. i could be amazing.. but my creativity plummets when i’m happy and i don’t know why this is.
and you called me. and i tried to speak of these things.. and i ended up in tears with shattered glass across the floor.
i think perhaps i enjoy the sadness and loneliness at times. as soon as you walked out the door, i opened a beer. i didn’t care that it was only 10:30am.
mom
i told you i’d stop because i didn’t want to hurt my family anymore
i told you i’d stop because dad wasn’t bringing it home
i told you i’d stop after i’d come home bawling
i told you i’d stop after i’d come home throwing punches
i told you i’d stop after i got raped and choked
i told you i’d stop after you almost called the cops on me for skipping school
i told you i’d stop after i started failing most of my home school classes
i told you i’d stop after i had done tests at the hospital. telling me that if i didn’t stop, i’d die
i told you i’d stop if you would just take me to rehab at seventeen
i told you i’d stop if you’d just pick me up from rehab after only being there a week
i told you i’d stop after the day i got out and blacked out and didn’t know where i was. you were on the phone frantically trying to snap me out of my blackout. driving around hopelessly trying to find me
i told you i’d stop the day i got back from the hospital. having to receive 27 stitches and almost not being able to use my right dominant arm
i told you i’d stop because it was causing problems in my life
i told you i’d stop when i moved in with my boyfriend
i told you i’d stop after my boyfriend and i started fighting constantly
i told you i’d stop if he would just proposed. because i promised him
i told you i’d stop after he kicked me out of the house
i told you i’d stop after i moved in by myself
i told you i’d stop after my performance at work started declining
i told you i’d stop after three men beat me down and choked me
i told you i’d stop after i sliced my thumb open on thanksgiving from washing a glass and had to get stitches
i told you i’d stop after i could barely pay the rent and i struggled for money
i told you i’d stop after i borrowed over two hundred dollars from you to pay my rent
i told you i’d stop after i had to take food from you because i spent all money on booze
i told you i’d stop because i could barely get out of bed anymore
recalling all of this makes me feel like a failure. i’m sorry mom that i keep telling you i’ll stop drinking and i never do. right now i’m holding a beer in my hand nine years later. At twenty two years old, i wish i could keep a promise by now.
my house is a terrible mess. i lay in bed and drink and throw clean clothes on the floor and make messes in my kitchen. and i just don’t care enough to clean. i don’t care enough about myself to try and be better. i have my boyfriend, my cat and two tumorous rats. and those are the only things i love. but not me. the fact that i can’t stay sober makes me hate myself.
