I just hate my life so fucking much.
I don't know any other way to put it.
I just hate my fucking life.
I don't even think I can blame the alcoholic anymore.
That's what happens.
Eventually you do the Beast's bidding for it.
Bedtime is worse.
Laying down next to him.
Next to nothing.
Everything I ever thought my life would be...
Everything I ever knew myself to be...
I can talk (write) a good game, as they say.
I can sound so strong and able and inspirational. Knowing.
I'm not lying.
My words aren't insincere.
They simply don't reveal the whole truth.
My daughter said, "What's wrong? You were ok a minute ago."
I said, (hissed) "I am NEVER ok.
My ok is just me keeping a lid on it all.
But it's there.
It's always there.
My fucking life.
How'd I get it so wrong?