It’s painful to watch.
It’s painful to swallow.
I wish so hard sometimes that things were different. I wish he didn’t drink himself into this dark unreachable oblivion. There are so many things that I wish I didn’t have to deal with. They call this life, but this isn’t a life that I chose. It’s one that I’ve decided to withstand and grow stronger from. Strong is one word that can be chosen to describe me, but at times like this I just think of the word weak. Ironically enough, my stance is taller and prouder when I’m weak than when I am strong. Slouching and timidly smiling is my strong demeanor. Strange, but true.
I watch him cry about the past and how much hurt it has caused him. Unfortunately, most of that hurt was of his own doing. He had it coming for all of the pain he has put some through. Selfishness isn’t something to admire and that is one trait within him that I can testify. No doubt he has shown some selflessness, but it has been on such rare occasion that I can’t describe any in full detail. “Daddy’s little girl” has never been applied to me, not even the day I was born. Sometimes I wish that could have been me, but I know it’s a thought long gone and far away. That label sailed away the day he decided that drinking was more fun than raising me and making me who I am. SHE made me who I am. I stand tall because of what she taught me and watching what she has gone through. Love isn’t strong enough of a word to describe what I feel for her. STRENGTH is her strongest trait. Trading her in for anything in the world is out of the question. I wouldn’t trade him in either, but I can’t say the same for him in respect to my admiration.
An empty stomach and an empty mind accompany his evenings after taking thousands of sips. Words cease to make sense as the alcohol clouds his every possible “good thought” left in his mind and magnifies his every toxic idea. He’s so tormented by his past. A curse inherited throughout his family. I sometimes find I have a hard time getting rid of the past, but SHE has made me get over those hills because they’re much too treacherous to ever think of climbing again.
Loud snores echo through the house after a long day of swallowing that poison. poison that will never fully make its way out of his body. poison that will keep making its way through his veins.
love is such a strong word. I feel it for him. He’s my blood. My blood is being poisoned. How can I keep letting it? There’s no stopping him. He’ll never lose momentum. There’s nothing I can do. I’ve never really tried, but why can’t he see my cries? Do I hide them that well?
The last question is rhetorical, but I will give it an answer. YES.
I do hide it well. He will never know that I truly love him. He always says he loves me “more.” He might. And that makes me feel guilty. I can’t bring myself to believe that he could possibly love me more. Not more than that liquid he keeps pouring into his mouth that claims he loves me more.
SHE will always be my rock. I will always fight to say that I love her more. Because she has fought for me, I will always fight back. My fists always balled up to come to her rescue if she ever needs it. If ever that poisoned tongue parts those beer-stained lips and throws stabbing words in her direction, I will always be there at her defense.
But.
When he isn’t around and someone parts their lips that don’t deserve an opinion in that regard, my fists are also balled up to defend. Not only because deep down, I feel that affection, but because no one will ever be able to share words about him because they don’t know what they’re talking about as long as they don’t live with him.
It’s confusing I know, but why does it have to be so complicated?
I wish it didn’t have to be this way.
It’s so…painful.
