A Midnight Fantasy

I can't see this being anything other than a right miserable post . . . so unless, for some reason, you happen to be looking for just that, I'd move swiftly on.

I've been here often over the past two weeks, catching up on Blogs, commenting when I have time, starting a post and leaving it until tomorrow . . . or whenever, or never.
So I won't start by reading Blogs tonight. I'll just write about where I am.

I feel right wound up to tell you the truth. My soul is aching with tears of frustration . . . I remember writing a similar post to this, possibly a year ago, when once again, I'd spent the whole day waiting, wondering and believing false promises. I could bore you with the whole story, every text, every phone call, every lie I chose to hang on to . . . but I won't. Fellow addicts would know the story all too well. Non addicts would wonder why anyone would put up with such nonsense . . . I don't know why it has to be so difficult. I can't think of any pre-addiction situation that compares. Something like being an alcoholic during the prohibition maybe . . . but I don't suppose any of us know much about that either.

Had I not spent so many hours getting gradually wound up over this, there could have, eventually, been the "joy" of finally getting the damn stuff, but by now I am beyond feeling "joy" . . . and even if I were to feel, say, a hint of relief, the thrill of the kill, so to speak, on it's arrival . . . disgust at my own fickleness would soon dampen that . . . So I wont. Be happy, I mean. Good lord, whats the point of this? Surely I might as well give in to feeling some kind of relief or short lived shallow happiness, should it be offered, after such a day . . . I'm obviously barking up the wrongest tree on the planet here. It could be that it's not even a tree.

Sometimes, somehow, I try to remove myself from myself for a second and take a look from another's eyes . . .  I can't even explain what I see, well, not so much see, as feel. Hopelessness, that's pretty close, or is it helplessness? I would shake my head at her and think; this is going nowhere, nothing will change, she's past the point of no return . . . Unreachable. That's what I'd say. But who am I to say?

So, do I just go on with this slow suicide until my lungs can take no more, then lie in a hospital bed cursing my comforter to the end. My children will still be my children.  I'll ask myself why, why did I not stop when I still had the chance. I already have the benefit of hindsight screaming at me . . . unwelcome visions that come to me at dawn. Glimpses of the crushing weight of regret that will be upon me. Twinges of the unthinkable pain of leaving them all too soon. Knowing that there will be no going back . . . It will be too late. Will anyone say "You must have known this would happen" or will they just think it? . . . There'll be no more chances. It will be time to pay the price . . . And the cost keeps on mounting.  I'm already grieving the loss of me . . .  where the fuck did I go? I don't remember choosing this, but I must have done . . . Where on earth was I when I made that decision? I don't suppose it matters any more.

Can I fast forward myself to that most awful place? . . .  Pleading for a chance to feel life and see life and live life. To choose life . . . Yes, anything, I'll do anything to live, to breath, to be given that choice again.

Really? you will?
Of course I will!!

Then off you go . . . Sleep now and when you awake tomorrow you will be back to where you were at almost 50 again and life will be yours for the taking. Just remember to take it this time. Every little bit of it with both hands, both ears and eyes.

Can you imagine . . . Can I imagine?

Well, I'll try.

I'm neither going to read through this or apologize for my misery. It's just a snippet of where my mind is at tonight . . . that's all.  Who knows what tomorrow today might bring. Love and thanks to you, my friends x x x