The morning comes and the tears do not impede, I still have the hatred burning inside of me. I’ve heard that time heals all wounds, I pray this to be true for I know of nothing else that may mend this tenderness, the gap in my heart. From dawn till dusk I lay in the small corner of my room (which has now become my refuge), thinking of what to do now. I’ve lived my life for someone else for so long that I’m unsure of what I want; what I need to be content again.
For days the phone goes unanswered, messages pile up and for the first time in my life I do not care. People try to tell you things happen for a reason; I pray now more than ever for this to be true. I’ll take anything that will give me the strength to pick myself up out of this emotional rut. I barley know what I feel and once again nothing is certain, and I’m scared.
I dream for three nights of him and the way he smelled, the things he said, the way he touched me that sent shivers down my spine. In these dreams I’m happy once again; when I awake and realize I’ll never have that again this is when the tears come.
Finally I’ve had enough and can dream no more. The first pot of coffee was the longest, and after that I began to sneak in drops of whiskey. This helped them to go down smoother and soothed the pain away, but like what is to be expected the drops grew and sometimes coffee wasn’t needed at all. I went through the liquor cabinet like a child threw a candy store, right down to the very last bottle of something blue, the label had been tore off, it could have been mouth wash of all I new. Once it was empty and I thought I’d slept off most of the drunk I decided it was about time to do something with myself. Unsure of what exactly that was I dressed and walked out the door, realizing what I had just done I decided that I must still be drunk. For the hurt was gone, the hatred was now just a smoulder, and life again could carry on. I walked down the streets for hours that night alone but I was for the first time in a long while not afraid.
