February 19, 2015 § Leave a comment
“Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry.” High and Dry – Radiohead.
It was early Sunday morning and the room hung dim with that strange period between asleep and awake. First conciousness, then as that blissful ignorance which comes with waking faded I felt that familiar drop. That sink. That horrible, rancid, bitter feeling. It had been awhile since I’d felt it. It hit me hard; I was out of practise. I rolled my eyes and held my tongue and wondered how I managed with this back when it used to be so frequent. Then the hangover rolled in. That didn’t help. The feeling wouldn’t pass. It wouldn’t sit. It rattled around my blood. It was on the run from me, I couldn’t pin it down, I couldn’t hold it still, I couldn’t deal with the problem. She was in the bed but she was distant. She was loading herself up to do that thing were she pushes me away. She knows I’m getting too close for her emotionally, she’s going to put the barricades up. I know her now. It’ll be drawn out, and confusing. It’ll be bitter and messy. I’m too deep under her skin, now she lacks the composure to keep it clean. So I know, I know what will happen here. You’d think I’d make move to stop it. You’d think I wouldn’t drive around in a car with the brake cables cut. You’d be wrong. I can’t cut and run. I won’t. Oh fuck. “Here we go again” plays my brain on a loop. It spins and cycles and hurts and drinks and pukes and fights and drinks and pukes and goes at it all over again. I bitched and moaned when I was lonely. Now, I have been delivered from that loneliness. Now, I find myself at the very end of that blissful, beautiful part. Now, I embark on the sharp, deep, steep dive into being lonely once more. To be drunk. I see it in her eyes she doesn’t know how to deal with this. She’s going to cut and run.