I am a lush, a drunk, a good for nothing. I loathe myself and I want to die. I have woken up today in a stranger’s bed again. My head is swirling around,yeah sooner or later the ceiling is going to crash over my poor head. Where was I last night more importantly who with? Does it really matter? I am still nursing a half empty tequila bottle in my left hand. The man, yes Reader, there was a man,appears to have gone. What was his name? Rafael, Gabriel, Azrael, no, can’t have been Azrael. Anyway what the hell… We were drinking shots until 2 or 3 in the morning. I think I passed out at some point. He was South American. Didn’t want to use a condom. In the end, despite my very inebriated state, I managed to persuade him to use one. He has a copy of a Frida Kahlo painting on his wall. A wounded deer. How appropriate. I really shouldn’t be doing this, I really shouldn’t be doing this, but somehow I always seem to. I don’t see myself as a high functioning alcoholic or whatever bullshit they call it to say “Hey, I’m a college graduate, I have a high powered job, if it wasn’t just for that slight little hitch, that my drinking sometimes get a bit out of control, I’d be just fine. I mean, I’m not a tramp or a single mother from a council estate. I don’t do drugs. I’m not a loser.”
Maybe I don’t care if I’m a loser or a winner. Maybe it’s just not so important to me.
I mean, I’m a good girl from a good family, the apple of her Daddy’s eye. So where did I go so wrong?
I just wish the pain in my heart would go (the one in my head and my stomach too but I know that they will…in time). I know it sounds terribly cliché, but since you’ve been gone, I can’t seem to be able to get my life sorted out. I must be the kind a girl every one would love to hate, the little princess who has suddenly discovered pain and just can’t cope. Whose only remedies to life’s toughness involve drinking margaritas or martini cocktails until she pukes. Who is not armed for the big fight. Who will age badly. Or go down very fast.
Ok, so alcohol has obviously made me very self-pitying. Get a grip sweetheart! Where are my shoes? One is lying by the side of the bed, the other one on top of the duvet cover. I prefer not to carry out an extensive search for my underwear.
I take a last look at myself in the mirror, try to brush my matted hair,wipe out my make up and my tears. So adios Gabriel or Rafael, it was nice meeting you although I don’t think I’ll be seeing you anytime soon.