gettingthroughwithalcohol - Tumblr blog

[gettingthroughwithalcohol]

The wheel

Warning, features fear of suicide.

My life was heading towards a better future. I was coming home, and I wasn’t hurting the people I loved anymore. 

They say this is why I came home, and they’re right, but I’m not so sure it was an act of God. 

It keeps turning,

From a man who thought their wife was their duty to provide for, and to teach when necessary. To a woman who thought being slapped was her husband’s right. 

A boy who drank to escape his father, and a girl who ran to escape hers. The echoes of our past never leave. 

It keeps turning,

I don’t want to be another gear, moving the chain of trauma and abuse through to the next generation. I was one of the lucky ones, it’s my duty to stop this in it’s tracks. 

When I look around me, all I see is life flashing by in a blur. My time is a heart beat. It goes up and down, up and down on the green screen.

It keeps turning,

The beats are going slower, the lows are getting longer. The drum plays a ballad, a ritardando, things will get better. 

What he doesn’t understand is that I can’t always see that. I can’t make myself remember tomorrow is still coming, that I might laugh and forget for a minute. Most certainly he doesn’t realize that I know the pain will come back. Again, and again, and again.

It keeps turning,

I drove wondering if I might find my little brother choking in a pool of his own vomit. Knowing that he has all the same symptoms I did, knowing men are more likely to follow through, knowing he must feel the same hole in his chest. 

He’s just a boy, and I know I wasn’t the sister I should have been. 17 years of shoving him away comes back to me. I never even tried talking to him about why I stole the gun.

It keeps turning,

He was fine, angry with me for waking him up. I want to yell at him, to tell him what I thought. That I was so afraid. I love you so much please let me in so I can stop you from making the mistakes I did. 

“Sorry man, we were just worried about you.”

It keeps turning,

Was I wrong? Was I afraid that he would confess he had been feeling worthless? That he thinks he’s the reason dad left? Everything’s so raw, every step feels like it could be a land mine. 

I’m so afraid of doing too much, and terrified that I’m not doing enough.

It keeps turning,

I want to be the person they can lean on because they know I will always love them. 

My mother will never believe it and my father can never do it. Pain. They passed it on to us, just like it was passed onto them. 

It keeps turning,

    “You went through this for a reason, so you can help the next generation.”

I’ve always hated when people say that. I would rather believe God never looked down than think he ever caused my loved ones pain for a reason. 

It keeps turning,

Yes, I came home at the right time. It was the calls from my mother, begging my forgiveness for the sins of her father. It was my father asking me, despite his years of experience compared to mine, what he should do. 

Shit was about to hit the fan, maybe I wanted to stop it. I hope I just wanted to be there, to be a source of love and compassion for all of them. Plus, it was a great job opportunity.

Maybe I shouldn’t have kids, 

[gettingthroughwithalcohol]

When does enough become enough?

When do you stop just enduring?

When you’re afraid of everything and nothing, do you reach for some semblance of control?

Do you run and hide?

Do you stand and fight?

I’ve never been good at either. 

Am I a coward if I just sit here and contemplate the duplicity of my personality.

Wonder why I want to simultaneously climb a mountain and burrow into the couch.

I want to be selfless and gentle,

I want to be a hard bitch who doesn’t give a shit,

I don’t know, what I want.

Maybe I’ll stand tomorrow.

[gettingthroughwithalcohol]

Music

What can you feel?

I can feel the the echoing cords of a guitar in tingles behind my ears.

I can feel the beat of the snare when my heart thrums.

I can feel sopranos take a breath as my throat closes,

I can feel the piano slow as my eyes burn into the staccato.

When all else fails, music makes me feel again.

[gettingthroughwithalcohol]

I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.

Robert Frost (via writingdotcoffee)

[gettingthroughwithalcohol]

I’ve had the first line stuck in my head for THREE DAYS!

Beneath the trees he talked with me spilling the secrets of the universe.

I clung to his words, put them to verse and now he is the melody.

The truth is good but lies are better, they shine like Christmas lights.

Twinkling against mold and rot, covering up what we once sought.

Apart we stand together, it’s easier than stomaching each other.

Send a text, a bright flash of light, they’re thinking of me, suppose that’s alright.

Go out in nature, feel the wind, look at clouds, smell the grass.

Realize there’s ants, and splinters too, some weird guy is staring at you.

Wish for a world with no problems and you will forever be dismayed.

Become a problem let them have the consequences, and I will finally be alone. 

These are the secrets we already know, and doesn’t that make it better?

Content I’d be if all I need is a house, some food, and me.

But I wish to be more than content,

The depths of the universe storm around me, ready to demolish my dreams.

Still I stay and face the void with a “Sure, I guess I’ll do that.”

His song is still swirls through my hair, and sometimes, I go back to the tree. 

Then I’ll remember that there is nothing here. 

To find my joy I must to leave the shade.

Maybe not now,

Maybe not tomorrow,

But I will really smile again.

[gettingthroughwithalcohol]

Cringe Moments of the Week

Me: Is talking to someone instead of doing my job.

My manager: Walks up behind me and puts her hand on my shoulder.

Me: Without looking back, “What the fuck are you doing?” Turns to see manager looking quite shocked and unsure of whether she needs to write me up for this. “Shit! I’m so sorry,”

My manager: “Ummmm, help that guy.”

Guy: Doesn’t need help

~

Me: Hanging up display, but isn’t quite tall enough to reach the top. 

Me: Is 5′8″ dammit and I’m going to hang up this display! 

CRACK

Me: Looks around 

A manager: “Saw that,”

~

Religious dad who is slowly realizing I’m an adult with a warped sense of humor: Tells joke about a Priest and a Rabbi.

Overexcited me: Tries to reciprocate with one of my favorite jokes.

Dad: “We don’t tell jokes anymore.”

~

Finished closing shift me: Goes into semi-full cafe thirty minutes before close. Has a great time talking to cashier, gets food.

Me: “Good luck getting home tonight,”

Cashier: Stares at me,

Me: Keeps smiling awkwardly,

Cashier: “Ok...thank you?”

Me inwardly: Fuuuuuuuuuck he thinks I’m some creepy stalker or something. Dude I just meant, cause you’re closing, and your place still has people in it. Oh shit, I can never come here again. NO! I really like their crepes. They’re really good crepes! Plus their coffee is fucking awesome. This guys going to be looking for me as he gets in his car, fuuuuuuuck. What if he crashes because of me? What if he doesn’t get home because I had to open my big mouth?!

Me outwardly: Takes my crepe and leaves.

[gettingthroughwithalcohol]

Don’t attack me like that

[gettingthroughwithalcohol]

Did you suck his cock?!

I was going to bitch about working in retail. Instead, I decided to tell you one of my shitty stories. If you’re suicidal don’t read this shit! Or do, I’m not your mom.

Seriously, if you need help seek it from those who care about you.

Light headed

Ears buzzing

Angry tears

Keep it in,

Parents yelling

Brothers crying

I’m screaming

Keep it in,

They’re sorry

It’ll get better

As long as we

Keep it in,

Beautiful house

Wonderful family

No one know’s we

Keep it in,

I pissed them off

Dad went for a drive

Mom’s cheated before?

Keep it in,

FUCK YOU

YOU HURT ME

I CANNOT

Keep it in,

She’s not an angel

He’s not a demon

I’m fucked up

Keep it in,

I’m going to school

I run everyday

I have friends

Keep it in,

I’m a piece of shit

I’m a piece of shit

I’m a piece of shit 

Keep it in,

I lied again

I’m not good enough

Live better without me

Keep it in,

Praying alone

Don’t send me to hell

Let me pull the

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

BANG

I shot a bunny 

Instead of me

Maybe I shouldn’t

Keep it in.

[gettingthroughwithalcohol]

“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”

—Ray Bradbury

[gettingthroughwithalcohol]

Tipsy poetry

What is love?

My mother playing with my hair,

My dog ​​sprinting to me so I can ask who's been a good boy,

A lily growing on the side of a busy street,

That's what I would say if you asked me today.

But what is romantic love to those who have never known it?

For those, like me, who are too ...

Quiet and loud

Stubborn and weak

Too damn angry with their lot to see that the world is still spinning around them if they only have the courage to go on. 

No matter what the reason's are, the point is I do not know romantic love. 

I want to loose control, as Elinor did when she realized Edward was her's at last.

I want to be destroyed by Mr. Rochester and feel nothing but desolation as I runaway from his love and security.

I want to be embraced for my selfish desires and adored even though I refuse to give Rhett Butler my heart. 

Fuck these stories

Fuck them for giving me an unreality I covet and despise. 

I don't want some man to become the center of my world,

I don't want to alter the rest of my life because of hormones I can't control.

But when my throat closes and eyes burn because Kat told Patrick I hate you,

I feel cheated,

These are copies,

These are simulations,

Exaggerations,

Reality is not so sharp, and maybe that's for the best.

If I felt as much for myself as I did for Ellie and Mr. Fredrickson, 

Well, I probably wouldn't want to check out of my world as often.