an alcoholics duality. collection

I think therefore I am miserable.

I think a curse has been cast upon me. A curse that has been my companion for so long that I have almost forgotten its arrival or my life without its presence. Tar has embedded itself in my soul, and it simply will not disappear. I scrub and scrub; I try to wash it away with a smile or new friends. I think I am lost.

The curse grows with my hatred. (Oh, no one understands my hatred, as it is so pervasive. I only had to do something, and the hatred ignited. The hatred wrapped around doubt and sorrow like a warming mother, and so they grew.)

How conceited I am to call it a curse? A curse, when in reality, it is just a scratch I cannot handle. A cry for attention, someone deep within me calls out, and I look at that someone.

No sorrow has haunted me. No pain should have awakened within me. No betrayal did I have to suffer, no addiction, no violence, no abuse.

I come to the conclusion that something is wrong with me; but not wrong enough to be truly wrong. (There was so much wrong in the world, I was not so special.) I now come to the conclusion that everything that hurts me is only my hatred, and that this hatred does not make me special.

My whole life consisted of being told that I was special. A castle for my own was built for me, and eventually, I forgot that this was not reality. I never understood that no one was special in this world, but only a certain someone was what came closest to being special.

I so dearly wanted to be that someone, but in the end, I was only mediocre; never completely talented. Never truly good, but only good at concealing the bad, to then complain that no one saw what I was hiding.

I created my own hatred.

A terrible seed grows and grows within me. A seed that demands to disappear. (I don't know where to, I don't think I even grant myself an end.)

"Accept the bad days, for only then will the good ones come."

I don't believe my days are bad enough to let good ones follow.