Sometimes, I'm amazed by my own ability to survive poverty. I'm even more amazed by how effectively I can hide it. Drinking makes it easier, because drinking erases the future, makes the money flow easily from my fingers. Suddenly, I'm finding an ATM, a late-night pizza place, buying a(more) cigarette off a stranger for fifty cents. That years-overdue vaccination, that cavity, wisdom teeth, long dreamed-of physio appointment, my phone bill ... they all fade away, blurred by slurring speech, incoherent as the staggering footsteps I drag through the snow. What matters is that I'm alive, that I know it, that everyone knows it. What does tomorrow matter when I've got friends to hold my hair?(less)
I rant and rave and pull your hair (instead of mine). Did you know that you are turning gray? I've thrown things at you. I've broken things. I've screamed at the top of my lungs and spewed hatred all over you. You have a scar. It runs down your(more) left arm and ends at your elbow. That was me too. My head wasn't right. I was violent and cruel. I could have killed you and would never have known it until too late. I harmed you mentally and physically. Any weakness you showed me I would instantly rip to shreds in my moments of insanity.
You stayed with me through them all. You were always there, making sure that I didn't harm myself while I was harming you and the world around me. You kept me safe.
Now that the fog has cleared, and the insane moments have passed things are calm.The storm is over, and the hurricane swept the violence and anger with it. It is endearing to see that through it all, you are still here. (less)