sobrietyftw

Breathe Life into These Dry Bones

I am the living dead.
I’ve found no freedom… no freedom in a bottle, no freedom away from it.
No freedom in the tears I shed in prayer; no freedom in running away from God.
Forgive me, for I am a fraud; contradiction embodied and intertwined in everything that I think, do, and say.
My groans, my pleads, my tears, my anger, my apathy…. All have been met with silence.
I feel, but these feelings, I want to get rid of them… or at least understand them enough to fix them.
This wall… I want to break it, or at least break through it.
This wall… is me.
I try to explain myself as an introvert. But really, I’m a recluse.
I’m a coward. I fear anything and everything.
I fear people, yet I fear being lonely.
I cannot get past myself. I cannot get past the feeling that there’s not much there in me.
I’m empty and hollow.
I have nothing much to offer besides silence and hate and judgment.
I am a wrecking ball and a liability.
A mute with so much to say, yet a laughable disconnect exists between my head and my mouth
I want to save the world, but I hate people (not really… it’s easier to feel hate than fear).
I want courage and bravery, yet I’m terrified by the vulnerability that they bring.
I want to show love, but I struggle with complacency.
The bottle, once the friend that showed me who I can be; what I want to be.
This solution though, short lived, yet I desperately kept trying to find it once again. Insanity took over.
I lost control over this friend.
I’d get to the bottom of the bottle, only to realize, it had betrayed me once again.
I let go, and now I’m forced to deal with the one person I despise and who holds me back from the life I want, from the person I want to become: me.
I want freedom.
I am the living dead.