Sitting on that beautiful, dark wood high shelf, her good friends for bad times Whiskey, Wine and Vodka seemed to be having a hush-hush talk about her disappearance from their lives. “The real question is why is she avoiding us?” asked Whiskey rhetorically. Wine sighed but remained silent. “She looks pretty happy without us; look at her new friend, Water.” Vodka added angrily, while she poured a glass of water and gulped it down.
It’s not like she wasn’t grateful to her liquid friends for loaning her some sanity in the middle of the storm; but the worst was over. She had done it; despite everything, she had managed to get her life back. The desire to take refuge in alcohol had finally been tamed by her sheer grit to punch the demon of depression right in the gut. Those very emotions that sabotaged her life were now the lessons, experiences and scars she valued greatly.
Yes, she had her life back.
Amongst a host of things that leave me baffled about relationships is the bitter urge to destroy an ex-lover; that is one emotion I will never understand. You have known each other in the most uncompromised way… You have shared with each other the most intimate of feelings… How can all that be forgotten in a flash? I understand the emotions of grief, disappointment, anxiety and pain; but the emotion of hatred… I will never understand. Why can’t you be happy that you were fortunate enough to experience something so ethereal? Why can’t it be left behind as a beautiful chapter in the book of your life? Why would you ever want to ruin something you loved so dearly? Why?
“I have never seen you “happy drunk”. Why do you drink?” her friend questioned. She pondered over the question and responded with a teary-eyed smile. No words. If only it was that simple to quiet the stubborn tormenting voice in her head asking her the same question over and over again, she thought… Then she thought some more and tried to come up with an answer. Yes, she liked being liquored up every once in a while… maybe because it guaranteed bringing to the fore all the pain she managed to bottle up in her sober state… maybe because she enjoyed not being in control every once in while… maybe because she relished the pain that missing him brought her every once in while… maybe because her drunk self reveled in the knowledge that she still was madly in love with him despite the constant denial by her sane self… “Aah, too many maybes to deal with,” she told herself and blasted music to stop this chatter in her head. Indeed, there were too many maybes.
Driving in the rain.
Our song on the unsympathetic radio.
700 miles between us.
And I am expected to stay sane…