It is so easy to be my mother. It is essentially effortless to turn around, pick up a bottle, become a functioning alcoholic starting at seven in the morning when my night shift ends, pass out within an hour of pounding liquor, waking up in the afternoon and no one questioning it. My life would have numbing, functioning alcoholic sleep. I never saw myself wanting kids, so I could easily get away with addiction. My job pays well, I live alone, and I have an elderly dog who is low maintenance. I wanted to kill myself when my mom died but didn’t have the gumption to do it, partly because I felt like I’d be a failure and I was terrified of being a failure in my mom’s eyes dead or alive, especially when she told me on her deathbed that she was sorry for failing me. Instead, I lost a bunch of weight on my own in an obsessive control-freak episode. I tried out new jobs and stopped smoking weed and limited my drinking. I began to write and write and model my writing outlet to the likeness of Augusten Burroughs’ Lust and Wonder and David Sedaris’ many-a-memoirs.

I then again lost the sense of control, so I read more about what to do when I wanted control, and how to release the illusion of control. I allowed myself to be used by men because, let’s face it, my male role models were less than stellar throughout my existence. I lacked a lot of female guidance growing up, and realized in my 20s that I’d have to do a lot of the growing up on myself. This is why I don’t like the idea of having to fix or take care of people, although by nature I am a fixer. I have a fear of dying alone, do activities with myself for the peace and quiet, but ultimately want to find someone to adventure with.

There is an intolerance that exists within me towards people who are incapable of communicating, and it hurts relationships but I admitted to myself that I’d rather have no relationship than pretend everything is alright. I don’t know if I’m happy; I don’t know if I’m depressed, either. I know I’m doing what I want in the confines of whatever financial resources I currently have. I think what I am is dissatisfied with how certain aspects of my life have turned out thus far. I want to be published and I want to have a stable, healthy romantic relationship. I fear that if I tick everything off my bucket list, I’ll just die - and that’s the last thing I want to do.

#archives #shortread #death #dying #addiction #memoir #nonfiction

He looks at me as if I was something he's never seen before. I wonder; how could someone be so amazed by me? Amazed by every flaw I have. Amazed by my own beauty that I even struggle to see at times. It's in that moment I realize... those eyes he see's me through are not mine. They are his. He see's me in a different light. I can't help but to wonder what I look like in his eyes. How green are my eyes to him, how does my skin look, what color is my hair and do I have smile lines? When he looks at me my heart begins to race, because I can feel the love being poured into my soul just by that single glance. Then he smiles. Man that smile of his is contagous; comforting in a way. I feel my cheeks heat up and I know I'm turning red. I giggle and look away. He brings his warm hand to my face and gently pulls me in for a kiss. Oh how I love those kisses. They will never get old. The love we have for each other no one will ever understand. It's a love so powerfull that no matter what happens it can not break. This love will never end and I'm so grateful to be with him. <3