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Dirty Nights and Painful Mornings.

- Sticky - Monday, September 4th, 2006 : goo

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I'm wide awake, it's morning.*

The new day rises like thunder in my non-hungover eyes for a change. It feels good. My thoughts are clear for the first time in a while. Why do I feel the need to fuck myself up every couple of days? I can tell myself a million times that I’m not doing it anymore but usually 48 hours later I’m back at it.
Sundown. The first shot of bourbon is reaching my stomach. I feel my body react in the usual manner, the dull burn of booze penetrating the walls of my gut, the sudden temperature rise, the settling in to a familiar haze that has kept me entertained more nights than any one woman I’ve known. The warm embrace of not caring and being able to tolerate the drunk idiots around you, the feeling that time is not wasted if you’re drinking.
Sunrise. I am still awake and just had my last drink of bourbon for the night. I am lying on a dirty floor with only a pillow. Cold sweat leaks out of my pores so slowly it’s maddening and I have the shakes. Sleep needs to come now, if only for a couple of hours, then I can crawl home and lick my wounds. The coked-up dyke on the pool table I am trying to sleep under won’t shut up and a phone won’t stop ringing, someone most likely woke up alone and is concerned about the whereabouts of the phones owner.
Desperation. My uncle lies in a hospital bed as we speak, hanging on to life, being implanted with a defibrillator. Drinking has had a large part in putting him there. My motivations and intentions are actually surfacing through the haze and I feel like doing something besides sleeping, drinking water, eating, smoking, and generally trying to kill the pain that I have caused myself, like every good junkie does.
Shame. Which is worse, the dullness and boredom that you are trying to kill or the shame and pain of the aftermath of self-induced treatment? It’s blisteringly obvious at seven-thirty in the morning on the way home with no shades and a face as pale as Casper the ghost which one is more beneficial.
You’ll see. The last thing in the world I want is to admit that I have been told things a million times that needed to be heard and taken to heart, things that were true, things I just wrote off, things people knew long before I was old enough to even understand what I was doing. Things like “booze is one of the worst drugs out there”, “drinking like that will kill you”, and so on. I don’t want to admit I was wrong, but I was.
Round-about. It is now becoming the time to figure this out. I’ve been spinning around this same circular enclosure of negative, self-destructive behavior for long enough. I just need to grab a hold of the controls of my life and steer it to the side, right out one of the exits and on to another place, only coming back here to visit, making sure things are the same as they ever were.

*I'm wide awake, it's morning is the title of a Bright Eyes album.

First post from a lurker. I had some photos to put with this but had trouble resizing them.

This article has been viewed 2822 times in the last 2 years


wake up call: 4th Sep 2006 - 02:15 GMT

My father and one of my closest friends both drank to death. My father was about 90 pounds when he died, his 3rd wife didn't want him around anymore and none of his family would take him in. We loved him but we couldn't watch him kill himself. My other friend I knew since 5 years old he would have been 40 this year, he kept having stomach anneuyrisms, he needed a new liver and still drank every night. He put his younger brother and mother through hell, and then died anyway. If there is anything in you that wants to live- put away the poison now.

jack: 4th Sep 2006 - 15:12 GMT

sticky you will die the same way your father and friend did and the way every other drunk did since there was booze around to drink. is there anyone who will weep for the dying drunk? i will weep for you to God, to put into you, a reason for existing on this planet. life is a beautiful thing but we humans find every which way of destroying it. if your lucky it may not be too late for you to recover but there will be a long and lonely road for you to walk. go to a religious store and look for a card called, 'footprints in the sand' and see your path. i've seen too many good, young men die from war and sickness. i've seen little children die with an ice cream cone in their little hands and i've seen good men give up life for a bottle. if you want to die then do it for a good reason. give yourself to helping humanity, the poor, the aged, the helpless and then die knowing you died like a man.

kim: 4th Sep 2006 - 18:13 GMT

been there so many times, now i have a reason to not be a looser. My reason is 7 yrs old and my son is my new life.

jack: proud of you kim.

Sticky: 4th Sep 2006 - 20:03 GMT

While I appreciate the input and advice you will be happy to know that things have changed drastically (a lot has to do with kids!) and this wasn't meant to be a "cry for help", merely a piece I wrote whilst in the throws of a bad lifestyle.

Jamie: 4th Sep 2006 - 20:54 GMT

this is an inspired piece of writing. i don't believe it needs photos. it stands on it's own two feet. and i know i sound like a stuck record but i really wish people posted more of the written word here to balance all the great photos. feel free to write like this here anytime. and i hear you on the kids thing.

jack: 4th Sep 2006 - 21:28 GMT

you should have informed us of your drastic change. that is what makes the written word so great, it is the redemption. and children generally are the reason. children are precious.

Sticky: 4th Sep 2006 - 23:49 GMT

Thanks for the words all. I write a fair amount of stuff and will add some other posts as they come along.
I saw Jamie post somewhere about his want for more written words, that's what made me think of posting this. It feels good to not be a lurker anymore.

Jamie: 6th Sep 2006 - 21:43 GMT

There's a large body of written stuff here on citynoise, but under the sheer weight of photographic contributions i suppose it might prove hard to find unless you know exactly where it is. like i do. So here's a bunch of my favourites for anyone who's at all interested.

My all time favourites
citynoise.org/article/202 - "POW! Die Bitch!"
citynoise.org/article/531 - The Artist
citynoise.org/article/220 - Roberto!

citynoise.org/article/1119 - The Tale of Tom

Peter's old stuff

citynoise.org/article/2
citynoise.org/article/3
citynoise.org/article/4
citynoise.org/article/5
citynoise.org/article/7
citynoise.org/article/8
citynoise.org/article/9
citynoise.org/article/14

any many more...

a couple from me
citynoise.org/article/903
citynoise.org/article/814

and then there's citynoise.org/author/a_disturbed_young_man

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