Joyful. Scotland. All but my eyes matter. Art degree. Recently escaped physical Hell. Happiest I had ever been.
Confused. Still Scotland. They still matter. It was a year of leisure, little learning, and something like love. The mundane was charging and I had no sword.
Grinding. The District. Their eyes still are the most. Back to the cubicle life with another advanced degree in the offing. The quest for monogamous love begins.
Numbing. Still DC. Their eyes still have it. Starting at the bottom again. The noble pursuit continues but I lose my honor and far sight. The lake’s teeming but no one lands. I become a father.
Paradoxically hopeful and wary. Chinatown. Still caring what they think. The night quests have turned rotten; I move forward on paper but my conscience surrenders. I contribute financially to what is supposed to matter most.
Smug and delusional. Still obeying their rules. Adams Morgan. The evenings become assembly lines building reckless dishonor. I’m using every day and I know I can stop any time. But I don’t. I’m still sending money.
The definition of insanity. Only their eyes matter. Yet AdMo. Integrity lies on the floor of my soul, bleeding out under the stars. Just this last time, I say over and over again. Part time parenting continues and my son love me for no good reason.
Disappointed. I remain underground. Their gaze still reigns supreme. The starry night quests are done or abandoned, reeking of good intentions, chicken shit and coming pain. I’m sober every morning and falling every night. I’m a shitty dad one month of the year.
Feeling the pressure of my sick calculations. Basement bound in the NW sector. While the sun hangs, I feel the noose tightening. When the moon rises, I use and nod out in front of the waiting world. I don’t know why my son loves me. He deserves better.
I want to die. Every single day. Every single night. I have lost hope for the first time. Nothing makes me happy anymore. My parents’ house. I’m no longer moving for them or for myself. I’m sober but only because I can’t afford it. I’m not even sending money anymore but he still loves me.
Reborn. The scales have fallen. A heretofore unfelt confidence and crystallized focus emerges. Really, truly happy for the first time in my life. I’ve gouged out those eyes. I’m no longer interested in what society had in store for me. I make the plans now. Like Dre said, ‘I lost some friends’ but I found the real ones. Nestled in the suburbs. I’m using again, all the time more than ever, day and night, ignoring all the screams. I’m in the program. I found I can be useful. I lost my salvation but I don’t need it anymore.
Tonight could begin a bright new path. And even if it doesn’t, for the first time in 44 years, I’ll get up, say ‘fuck it’ and keep fighting. My son and I had our best week together. I’m not just grappling for him. I’m fighting for my life.
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