I have a problem with being honest. Not on this blog for it seems the one place I do get honest; but in terms of my abuse of alcohol to cover up for many things I struggle with, and the fear I foist upon myself. From last Thursday to Monday night I couldn’t even tell you how many lies I had to tell myself and others. Those lies bottled up inside me like delicate tiny ships forcing my soul to walk the plank plunging to the cold waves to drift forever away. In these times the lava of self-hatred washes over me, and I can’t remember the last time drinking even was fun. All it is a momentary reprieve into hollowness, like a diseased tree tucked away in a forest of purgatory.
The funny thing is being honest feels better than being drunk. I don’t know why I don’t chase that feeling more than the numbness that lying provides me. Mindfullness helps in honesty because if you are totally in the moment you can’t be trying to scam the future. For a lie is just a momentary reprieve against the consequences of actions that violate your code. And like the wise man Omar said before me,
Even as I write this a twinge of the thought of drinking arises. My brain distorting those memories of truth I know deep in my marrow. It’s the anxiety of living that scares me today. For an unspoken desire soon twists me into liar, and that is not world I want to inhabit again.