Soul Reasonings: Weary Words from A Weary Soul

I haven’t written in a minute, for a number of reasons. I have been studying, I have been working on an article for a friend for the longest period of time imaginable (I will post that here too, assuming it gets done this lifetime), but mainly because some things shook me to my core this week. This one isn’t going to be elegant treatise on the myriad interpretations and meanings given to language, largely held to be taboo. No, this is pure emotion, needing a release point, and possibly finding in this space. This is my venting ground.

I was put into a strange and uncomfortable situation some days ago. It wasn’t strange, in the sense that it was unfamiliar. It was strange, in the sense of “how the fuck did I end up back here.” And then it just moved from being strange, to just being downright painful. Let’s paint a very vague caricature of the scene. You go out with a group of friends. One of them holds more significance to the rest due to the fact that you were involved once. Some time has passed since then, and you believe you are fine, though secretly, you know you still hold very strong feelings for this person. Yet, out of respect for them, you have stopped trying to pursue what you once had, and have tried to move on. You have even succeeded to a certain point. It’s just going to be a fun night with good friends. Then it all goes awry. Everyone gets drunk to varying degrees. From “I’m nice, but I have to drive folk home, so let me start chugging club soda from now”, to flat out wasted. Your “special friend” is in your car, so you’re trying to be responsible. Now in all my years of drinking (to excess a lot of time), I have stumbled upon a very funny fact. Alcohol is quite an effective truth serum. If you have had sufficient quantities, in the right mix too, you will most probably act an ass, and you won’t remember the vast majority of it the next day, but I guarantee that anything that exits your mouth will be a pretty close approximation of the truth. You may get some hyperbole in there, but basically, you’re incapable of lying. And with that setting, came my pain.

My special friend was one of those sliding towards the “I’m wasted” side of the scale. On the ride home, I was subjected to a line of questioning and statements that moved from amusing, to strangely reminiscent, to downright painful. It is a truly exquisite (and not the “good” exquisite either) form of pain to have someone tell you things you want to hear, no, pined to hear, but you cannot take any of to heart. Why? Because they’re DRUNK. Remember that part about alcohol and hyperbole? In essence, you cannot hold them to anything they said. Because I’m almost certain you were never supposed to know in the first place. Let’s examine that for a second. The one thing you probably aren’t supposed to know, is the same thing that you really want to know, but you know now, yet you can’t really acknowledge that you know, because you aren’t supposed to know. And so life moves on in its own little circle. Except for me, who now has deal with old wounds that have been opened anew, and fresh pain from old sources.

I’m not blaming my friend for my issues. She is entitled to live her life without having to worry about how it affects anyone else. I’ve done a semi-ok job this week of hiding my hurt behind false smiles and excuses of being tired. I haven’t drunk like this since carnival weekend, and my smoking has hit an all time high. I have gone to sleep early and awoken the next morning feeling more tired than I was the night before. I have thrown myself into my studies, and my work, so that my mind won’t have any opportunity to wander. And in all of this, I just keep trying to push those old emotions back to where they came from. Cuz this is what I do best. I don’t deal with my shit, I rise above it, right? Right????

I guess till then, I’ll drink my sorrows away. Just don’t ask me any fucking questions if you meet me while I’m drinking.