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Why can't we go back to how things were? Pretending this was just harmless fun was fine. It was innocence at its most diluded, and I loved it. The only thing I ever loved.

I open my eyes to find myself laying face down on my bedroom floor. Memories of the night before flood my head at once, competing for space and causing a sharp burning behind my eyes.

Lines and tabs and joints and fights... The story of my adult like played out in one horrendous night. How could I have been so ignorant to how they felt about what I was doing to myself? I didn't want to think about it, or any other painful aspect of my now crumbling life. It's amazing how distorted your problems can look through the bottom of a bottle of booze. Your vision is twisted until they stop looking like your own, and more like those of everyone around you. He had been angry about my constant running and hiding from my fears and insecurities. I though he was being a hypocrite, projecting his misgivings about me onto my harmless fun.

Is it in fact the memories, or another hangover? The emotions I experience suggest one thing, while the throbbing of my head suggests another. Gathering all my stregnth, I wrench myself from the floor, stumble through my door, down the hall and allow myself the luxury of the steamy bliss that is the shower. I push back the memories that are now bombarding my mind, aggressive like militants attacking some tropical foreign villiage. As they subside, so does the ache in my head, but it doesn't leave altogether. I finish cleaning the sweat and filth from my body, towel off and make for the comfort of my bed... My bed. Shiny, new, yet to be broken in... Comfort doesn't seem to properly describe what I find there.

I've woken up too many times like this. I haven't slept three whole nights in that giant new trap of lonliness in the two months since I first bought it. Afternoons and mornings perhaps, but nights? No, it's far too big, far too empty... But such is life, I suppose.

What am I doing with my life? I wonder this to myself as I lay, still damp under my comforter. A question I seem to bring up with myself all too often lately. I am currently striving for proof of a higher education, attending one of the best Universities in the country. So why do I still question myself and my motives? Why do I bring myself to the brink with substances when I have such an admirable goal? Am I so displeased with my feild of choice? Music had always been a large part of my life, and as such it had only seemed natural to take it as a degree, right out of Highschool. Now, as I near the end of my undergraduate degree, nothing seems so clear cut as it had years ago. I have no clear direction in my life, no job to turn to when I finish, and definitely no plans for more schooling. It feels as if once I convicate, my life is going to end.

I end that train of thought, not liking the direction that it's taking, and begin to drift off to sleep. Again, the recollections of the previous night's bender take me over. They wrap around me, keeping me warm and comfortable in a strange, backwards way. Sleeping with my demons is better than sleeping alone in my opinion. Nobody wants to be alone, at least... I think they don't. I think I don't want to be alone. Am I correct in that assumption? Even I'm not so sure anymore. Nobody is easier to deal with than somebody. Alone, you dissapoint no one.

I dream of a room full of people, not one happy to see me. Their gestures make me shrink backwards, as they conversly grow bigger by the second. The ominous giants are silent in their displeasure, but I know what they feel. Dissapointment, Confusion, anger that I would chose self-destruction over happiness. I try to explain that I don't chose between such straight forward things, but then I notice that I am the only one in the room who isn't purely black and white. My shades of grey contrast starkly against their lack thereof. I realize they will never understand my reasoning, and that I should stop trying in vain, as it's a waste of energy. They all leave the room where I remain, alone, wondering why they are so incapable of seeing the inbetween.


The following comments are for "Unfinished, Untitled"
by transatlanticism

I am really intrigued by the character.You roped me in and I enjoyed the small peice that I read.Keep up the good work.

( Posted by: orbitduck00 [Member] On: July 24, 2005 )

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