This has been a long overdue journey that I’m about to set out on.
My bags have been packed for awhile. They’re collecting dust and becoming just part of the room, now. Tripping over them whenever I venture out. Like bills that stack up. Payments due. I forget what’s been packed. I should inventory their contents before I pick them up – but I trust that I’ve crammed in enough. I’m confident that they’re heavy. They sit by the door and I forget that they’re waiting for me. The elephant in the room. When I have visitors, they wonder aloud what’s happening with the heavy bags. “Pay them no mind,” I say. “But we can’t get inside unless you move them.” I acknowledge this and change the subject. Kicking them to the side. “Don’t you need to pick them up? You should really pick them up.”
I’ll pick them up another day.
They’re too heavy. I don’t have the energy right now.
I promised myself that I’d do this at some point. I even thought I’d do this after my first drink. I loved it. I knew it would take me over. And, it did. It won. But, I’m not one to be lorded over. I hate authority and being told what to do and think. Fuck you.
Somewhere, I realized that booze was doing just what I hated.
Let’s be clear – I’m not physically dependent on alcohol. Thank fucking God. I just love it. Day drinking is my thing. I too, enjoy a good beer buzz early in the morning. But by 2pm I’m a horrible mess. Drunk, tired, haven’t showered, haven’t brushed my teeth, unshaven, laundry undone, cat box overflowing, bills unpaid. I’ll just sleep it off. Another day gone.
Years of this shit.
Angry at myself and you.
So, I’m done. I just turned 49 last week. I haven’t had a drink in 10 days.
I’m not doing this for you, my girl, my family, my friends, my show, or my career. This isn’t a stunt. This is for me.
These bags are really heavy…
I love you