Kiki goes home

Published January 28, 2013 by Johanna

I have no idea how I made it through, but I can finally go home. I haven’t heard from John since he caught me with the bottle of scotch. I feel quite crappy about the whole situation. While packing my stuff, I realize the guilt trip won’t really change much. I gotta take responsibility for the monster I’ve become. Easier said than done, obviously.

John must have left already. His cubicle is empty. I’d lie if I said I don’t feel disappointed. The affection I have for the boy is starting to become obsessive. Something I’m gonna work on eventually. Right now, I think of jumping on the subway and reaching my apartment quickly. Usually I’d get my bottle of scotch and drink. Not tonight. I’m not going to indulge in getting myself drunk. It never led me anywhere.

Lord, it’s cold outside. My nose is gonna fall off if I don’t cover my face with my scarf. I’d need some comfort somewhere warm, maybe with someone nice. Ha, who am I kidding? Not the time to long for a relationship. I have enough on my plate. Plus we all know where the last relationship got me. Nowhere. Pretty much down the drinking road.

Look at John. Even if he says he cares about me, he still left work without saying goodbye. Selfish bastard. I’m all alone in this. As always.

Sigh. Come on. Get a grip. You didn’t use to feel this way a few years ago. You lost all your standards as soon as you got married. You tried drugs for the first time, became a pothead, then an alcoholic. You abused pain killers and lost yourself having horrible sex with stupid guys. None of what happened was your fault. You were maybe too hard on yourself. But you have hope. Find yourself again. Have faith.

The subway ride feels like a blur, and I almost miss my stop. I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t know how to stop being so sad. Life doesn’t give me what I’m looking for. No true friends to rely on. No family to support me. I need to relieve the pressure of loneliness with a few drinks or a joint sometimes. My job doesn’t provide me with much joy either. So what do I have left if I don’t drink or get high on a regular basis? I don’t see the point of living all together if I find pleasure in nothing at all. I enjoy baseball and hockey, yet I rarely go to a game without drinking way too much cheap beer for way too much money.

There’s really no solution to this. I can think of everything as much as I want, I always come to the same conclusion. Simple things most ordinary people like don’t make me happy. I can’t fit in a category. I didn’t grow up that way. I often feel alone, even if I’m surrounded by a million people. New York City will do that to you after a while. Wrong place? I just want to be happy again. Or if this goal is unattainable, less miserable.

John can’t relate because he’s young and he still has friends. He didn’t burn all bridges because he couldn’t settle for crappy relationships. I’m so dissatisfied, and expect the best all the time. Fuck the job, fuck the romantic relationships. I only want to love myself again, and have dreams that will make me smile.

Too much stress. I’ve become my own support system, and I can’t take it anymore. But if I cry for help, will anyone come to my rescue? I doubt it.

Even a vacation won’t change the fact I’m lonely. Just like a superhero, I have too much strength and one fatal weakness. Being alone doesn’t make me happy. Being alone kills me. I need to stay busy to forget the solitude that has invaded my life since the divorce. But working constantly isn’t what I need.

Lord. I should find peace somewhere. Look at a glass of wine and appreciate the taste without losing my sanity in the process. Am I able to find such balance in the end?

Right now, I don’t think I can handle the drinking without getting depressed. Negative thoughts are too overwhelming. They control everything, my emotions are disproportionate. I go from feeling ecstatic to feeling completely down. My nerves can’t take all the stress. I cry, I laugh, I behave like a maniac.

John shouldn’t witness my mood swings. That was never his job. As caring as he pretends to be, I can’t dump all my problems on him like he’s my shrink. I need to talk to someone who’s a stranger to my daily business. Someone who won’t judge me. Someone who can offer an objective point of view.

I say that now and tomorrow I’ll change my mind all over again. Because my pride will take over and convince me I’m perfectly fine on my own. And then I’ll feel angry against the whole wide world because I’ve been let down. The victim of a birth I didn’t choose and must cope with every day.

Will anything ever improve? Is sobriety the solution? I’ve never been sober. I’m always high on something. That’s how I learned to live for the past ten years. I was completely anti-drugs as a teenager. When my first love made me forget all about my morals, I started experimenting. Hash. Weed. E. Coke. Scotch. I did so much because I couldn’t deal with my life the way it was, I thought I had found a great way to be artificially happy. I realize now I self-medicated a lot. Even today, it was foolish of me to believe I could drink at the office like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I’m not superhuman. I have feelings too. Once I pass the threshold of my apartment, I’m gonna have to get rid of all the bottles of liquor I started collecting. That’d be a good start I guess. And John says he wants to buy them half price, but I can’t bring myself to keeping these bottles any longer.

The decision has been taken. I’m done with booze.


To be continued…


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