But honesty is not always eloquent

I sleep through most of every day. Because I stay up most of the night and morning trying to drink it away. But I’m not even sure what it is...loneliness? unhappiness? fear? the sickness I have that no doctor can diagnose?

Tonight I realized it’s fucking bullshit. I would rather soberly face everything...my insecurities, my fears, the realization of my utter failure in the face of so much potential...than have one more drink. That’s it. I’m done. At least until I can handle it. And I can’t right now. Escape is a disease that has become the norm. And I don’t ever want to be normal. I would rather writhe on the floor in pain and sorrow and suffering. And if that’s what it takes, that’s what I’ll do. Until any of this makes sense. Until I see the promise instead of the fallen. Until I see redemption instead of death.

I want to be free of all this. I want so desperately to be free.