an apparent treatise on why i will never become, specifically, an alcoholic, though which makes no claims on other substances either legal or illegal

when i drink i do not forget. i remember. 

i remember what it is to feel and what i have been hiding from myself, still. 

i burn with the intensity of being turned inside out, that raw and bloody muck, of actually being shown my own self-loathing and -disgust and watching it emanate from me in shimmering waves. i have been living in that mirage, you know. i had forgotten. my conception of reality has always been tentative at best.

my roommate and her girl see only each other in those intense conversations you have when drunk and dating. i hide behind my evanescing smoke though i am invisible anyway. not their fault. i am all smiles of course. but i am feeling ten thousand nameless horrific things and i should not be left alone so late at night and certainly, certainly i should not be allowed blades. 

my secrets weigh too much and i weigh precisely 99.0 pounds too much and take up too much space and gravity, being an asshole, has gripped me with a fetal and still-pajamaed emotionally-hungover paralysis. turning myself right-side out again, or trying at least. hiding it all again. but it never goes back quite the same way, does it? i am lumpy and maimed and the dissonance in my head could be heard across counties. maybe if i cut it up and tape it back together differently. 

my dear S, your email remains unopened yet because you deserve more attention than i can give it at this moment when i am trying very very hard to just continue living. patience dear because i am thrilled to read it. but you know how it goes. 

i thought i had a point to this post but i don't of course except if you are fragile and bearing the weight of too many secrets, don't get drunk with people who are dating, even and maybe especially if they buy you chocolate bars and skittles first. 

the aftermath of drinking must be handled carefully. i suggest black and white photos, nests, cigarettes and bathtubs. cats maybe, benzos and litres of perrier. 

oh, that and the certain assertion to never again exceed the recommended alcoholic ounces per weight of fragility.