iLoveYouWithaKnife
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2002
- Messages
- 8,351
I had made plans with Abe, his best friend. I was to meet him at the bar that he managed and we were to go out from there. As eleven o'clock was rolling around Abe's phone rang. I spoke with the person on the other end of the line who told me they had to get their car and then they were going to meet me for a drink. Abe, I said, I'm staying here. That's alright with me sweetie if you want to wait around for a piece of dick. He should have left the words 'piece of' out of the sentence.
An hour went by. Two hours went by. At the other end of the bar was that strange guy, the one that continued to buy me drinks the other night and thought that by doing so he reserved the right to come over, sit down, and strick up a conversation. Why the fuck is it so hard for a girl, this day and age, to sit at a fucking bar and not expect anything.
Not expect for someone to buy me drinks all night or sit there waiting to get picked up. I was only expecting one thing, which was for him to meet me, but no one had to know that. No one had to know that I was in the process of being stood up. I ordered myself a double shot and another beer and propped myself against the jukebox as I tried to jam a dollar in the neon glowing slot. And as my finger hit the buttons of another sappy fucking bar song, I threw fifteen dollars on the bar for Valerie. I think I only paid for three drinks. And when I go to the bar, I know, just as well as anyone else I don't sip.
At four o'clock in the morning Abe returned with a friend and the four of us sat there and talked. You want to know why I do drugs? I'll tell you because you asked. It's not because it's the cool thing to do, or because everyone else is. It's not because I am addicted and fiending. It's because they numb me. They make me the person I want to be. Carefree, happy. Even if it's just only temporary. I'm not the little girl with her head resting on the bar, tears in my eyes because some fucking guy.... some fucking guy didn't want to see me. They make me say, Fuck him. His loss.
But when the drugs wear off, there I am reevaluating myself. Second guessing, thinking, maybe I am a fucking asshole.
Do unto others, as you want done to you.
At that moment I realized I stood someone else up tonight. The guy that would prop me up, so high on a pedestal, treat me right.
I don't want that.
No, I don't. It isn't the chase that I am after. Because trust me, it's just not worth running after. I want things I cannot have because no one is every given the opportunity to fuck me over. No one has the chance to treat me like shit, and if you do it's not because I am weak. It's because I let you. Sometimes, I will admit, I like being walked on.
We all lay ourselves down from time to time, waiting for someone to wipe their feet. We allow it. I allow for people to have power over me.
Abe and I were the only ones left as the clock was close to striking eight. Fill up our drinks he said and let's go get some breakfast. Breakfast, I thought. That sounded so nice because I couldn't even remember the last time I ate. I walked through the hotel lounge, over to the dining area with two glasses of beer. How we thought it was a good idea is beyond me. I didn't really think the guy sitting at the table next to me would think I was drinking apple juice.
As I was picking apart my bagel, that I didn't really want anyway, I started to pick apart my mind, and I knew I had to leave. Self loathing was ticking faster than the second hand.
I didn't have class anymore. I didn't look sophisticated. My makeup was running down my face, smeared, hair all tattered and out of place. My skirt hiked up more than it should have been.
Usually when I arrive home and the sun in shining and I am a mess, I have a beer with my roommates who at that point are having a bowl of cereal and getting ready for work. But I wasn't the only one arriving home at nine. I wasn't the only one who was going to go to sleep lonely. So we cuddled. I woke up alone and late for work. It's just another day in the life of the posterchild for the drunk.
An hour went by. Two hours went by. At the other end of the bar was that strange guy, the one that continued to buy me drinks the other night and thought that by doing so he reserved the right to come over, sit down, and strick up a conversation. Why the fuck is it so hard for a girl, this day and age, to sit at a fucking bar and not expect anything.
Not expect for someone to buy me drinks all night or sit there waiting to get picked up. I was only expecting one thing, which was for him to meet me, but no one had to know that. No one had to know that I was in the process of being stood up. I ordered myself a double shot and another beer and propped myself against the jukebox as I tried to jam a dollar in the neon glowing slot. And as my finger hit the buttons of another sappy fucking bar song, I threw fifteen dollars on the bar for Valerie. I think I only paid for three drinks. And when I go to the bar, I know, just as well as anyone else I don't sip.
At four o'clock in the morning Abe returned with a friend and the four of us sat there and talked. You want to know why I do drugs? I'll tell you because you asked. It's not because it's the cool thing to do, or because everyone else is. It's not because I am addicted and fiending. It's because they numb me. They make me the person I want to be. Carefree, happy. Even if it's just only temporary. I'm not the little girl with her head resting on the bar, tears in my eyes because some fucking guy.... some fucking guy didn't want to see me. They make me say, Fuck him. His loss.
But when the drugs wear off, there I am reevaluating myself. Second guessing, thinking, maybe I am a fucking asshole.
Do unto others, as you want done to you.
At that moment I realized I stood someone else up tonight. The guy that would prop me up, so high on a pedestal, treat me right.
I don't want that.
No, I don't. It isn't the chase that I am after. Because trust me, it's just not worth running after. I want things I cannot have because no one is every given the opportunity to fuck me over. No one has the chance to treat me like shit, and if you do it's not because I am weak. It's because I let you. Sometimes, I will admit, I like being walked on.
We all lay ourselves down from time to time, waiting for someone to wipe their feet. We allow it. I allow for people to have power over me.
Abe and I were the only ones left as the clock was close to striking eight. Fill up our drinks he said and let's go get some breakfast. Breakfast, I thought. That sounded so nice because I couldn't even remember the last time I ate. I walked through the hotel lounge, over to the dining area with two glasses of beer. How we thought it was a good idea is beyond me. I didn't really think the guy sitting at the table next to me would think I was drinking apple juice.
As I was picking apart my bagel, that I didn't really want anyway, I started to pick apart my mind, and I knew I had to leave. Self loathing was ticking faster than the second hand.
I didn't have class anymore. I didn't look sophisticated. My makeup was running down my face, smeared, hair all tattered and out of place. My skirt hiked up more than it should have been.
Usually when I arrive home and the sun in shining and I am a mess, I have a beer with my roommates who at that point are having a bowl of cereal and getting ready for work. But I wasn't the only one arriving home at nine. I wasn't the only one who was going to go to sleep lonely. So we cuddled. I woke up alone and late for work. It's just another day in the life of the posterchild for the drunk.
hugs !