free page hit counter <$BlogRSDUrl$>
Naked Blathering

Old Friends


For the October Alchera project. Writing prompt #1.

I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me.

The drugs keep me sane. Balance me out. They stop the voices and quiet my demons. It's not my fault that the voices and demons are there. I blame my father for that.

Of course daddys are all smiles when you're born. Doctors and nurses are charged with bringing you into this world. Everyone gives the congratulatory pat on the back to your dad. Your mom has the weak smile on her face, tired but proud. Once your parents walk out the door with you, the smiles continue as more well wishers drop by.

Then, the crowd quiets down. The sleepless nights are filled with frustrations. Crying babies don't make happy parents. It never gets any better. Even once sleeping through the night becomes normal. After that it's messy feedings, messy potty training, messy playtime. You become a messy kid. Another responsibility. Gone from cute to a royal pain in the ass.

The happy smile turns into a menacing leer. The happy afternoon home from school turns into a quiet fear as the sun sets. What's it going to be tonight? Is my report card good enough? Does the kitchen counter need another wipe-down? Did I leave my dolls out on the living room floor? Am I going to be oblivious as he walks through the door? I hear the car engine as he pulls into the driveway and I scurry to my room to avoid the initial storm. Maybe he'll find someone else to pick on tonight. No such luck.

Depending on where I am, the alcohol does one of two things to me. Out with my friends, it makes me laugh. I become carefree. My troubles disappear and for the moment I'm relaxed and happy. Being the life of the party has its benefits. I get my nerve up to talk to guys at the bar. It's amazing how sexy I can be with a little fire in my belly. I'm always the best dancer out on the floor. Gettin' my groove on never looked so good.

At home, the long day requires that I wind down with a tasty adult beverage. Sometimes I make it through the whole bottle of wine. Curled up on the couch, just me, my sitcoms and a nice chianti. I laugh then too. But quietly. Or, the Lifetime Movie of the Week will make me cry. Those poor women. I can sympathize with my sisters. Sometimes I'm in the mood for beer. That usually puts me out a little faster. Every now and then I have to call the carpet cleaners to get out the sour, malty smell of the beer I lost track of as my eyes closed.

The violence usually stays put. You know, the drugs. They help that too. But every now and then, someone really pisses me off. Cut off in traffic, I yell at the bastard in front of me. Once, a customer service girl was almost in tears. She didn't know what to do. I gave her a good reaming over my phone bill. Say the wrong thing to me or act like you can't help and I can let it out.

I used to be worse. When my husband told me he wanted a divorce, I've never wanted to hurt anyone so bad. The sonofabitch took so much from me and then thinks he can decide that it's over? Wrong buddy boy. No amount of drugs or alcohol could make that pain go away. I kicked him and swung at him. Then I left. I knew I was about to lose control. I didn't make it around the corner before I had to stop my car and scream. I screamed for what seemed like hours. The pain was so intense. My eyes were swollen with tears. Anger and rage streamed down my face. Spit flew from my mouth as the fury erupted from the pit of my stomach. My hands ached from hitting the steering wheel over and over again. From the outside, I'm sure I looked like a pathetic lump of flesh.

Insanity? Yeah, I've been a resident for a long time. You know. Those demons I mentioned? They've been with me forever. I was always jealous of the other little girls at school. They looked so happy and smiley all the time. Their daddys loved them. They were nice to other people. They got invited to birthday parties and sleepovers. I hated them. They were so perfect. I would fantasize about them falling down and tearing their pretty dress. Or losing the new doll they brought to school. Why couldn't I be as nice and as pretty as the rest of them? Why was I made broken on the inside? Why did they pick me to make fun of? I didn't want to be the outsider. I beat myself up on the inside. Made up excuses to myself about why I could never be part of the "in" crowd. Sometimes I wanted to die. Why didn't I do something about it? I was too afraid to actually go through with any of my suicidal thoughts. They scared me more than the nice girls at school. How insane is it to be more afraid of what people would say about you if you killed yourself than of what they already said about a bad haircut and ugly glasses?

So you see, its worked for me in one way or another. Helped me to deal. Got me through the hard times. Drugs, alcohol, violence, insantity. Each of them a favorite old friend. I might put one away every now and then. But I know that I can always call on them to get me through another bad day. Like a fuzzy old sweater I can get out and put on to ward off the cold. I'll never be rid of them completely. I wasn't made that way. Someone forgot to put all the right parts in all the right places. They're necessary.

2:56 PM :: ::
  • Wow, we should hang out some time. hehe

    I'm going to add your blog to my sidebar soon. I look forward to reading your stuff. :)

    By Blogger DeeJay, at 1:56 PM  
Post a Comment
<< Home

InterstellarLass :: permalink