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By JD Date: 2004 Nov 04 Comment on this Work [[2004.11.04.23.45.23687]] |
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Here is what I feel. My day starts off, I drink my black coffee, no sugar, maybe a teaspoon of cream if I'm feeling indulgent, and I join the fleet of traffic on the 401, listening to mind-numbing morning shows pretending to talk about politics, and I fight to be busy because I know that by 10 o'clock, I'll be eyeing that door, and wishing fervently to go back to the darkness, the comforting darkness, of my room, and drink that last bottle of vodka, while telling myself that I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just depressed. But no one will ever know about the Red Bull underneath my bed, or about the small bottle of Tequila in my sock drawer, not even my perfect boyfriend, who knows everything about me, except that sometimes I just want to kill myself because I can't stand to start another day, with another cup of coffee, and listen to morning shows pretending to talk about politics. Nope. No one knows. Because every time someone asks me just what the fuck is wrong with me lately, I smile, and say that I'm just tired. But that's only a euphemism. Because I'm not tired. I'm... |