2 Minutes. Go!

I'm not going to drink today. I am not going to drink today. I am not...

By 10:00 AM, he is out of bed. He has destroyed the bathroom. He stands in front of the mirror shaking and sweating. His mouth fills with spit and he wonders if he will vomit. 

Then, he vomits. Of course he vomits. 

He doesn't care. 

The first beer tastes like battery acid, but three beers have to go down before the liquor or he will puke every shot right back out of his tired body. The second beer tastes like homework. The third beer slows down the shakes. 

Knowing that the vodka is coming helps. When this pattern started, sometimes he could stop the shakes by thinking about the impending drunkenness. His body would relax, knowing it was coming. 

That doesn't happen anymore. But after three vodkas with a splash of cranberry, he feels himself coming back to life. The pain seeps back out of his muscles. His posture improves.

By the time he starts picking up passengers, no one would ever suspect a thing. 

Hell, he's just an Uber driver who really likes breath mints, right?

Buckle up!

2 Minutes. Go!

Here’s what I think... 

I think it got bigger than you wanted…bigger than you expected, and you didn’t know what to do with it. Where to put it. You didn’t know if you should tell someone about it or if you should keep it secret, tuck it away inside you so it could be something only you had to wrangle, reckon or play with. 

That’s what I think. I think your heart was probably in the right place. I don’t think you’re evil. Or mean! I think maybe you were a little selfish, but maybe we’re all a little selfish. 

Then, it started sneaking up on you. It brought anxiety, but you didn’t call it that. Anxiety sounds cute. We’re talking dread. Real, no-bullshit, 100% dread. The kind that wakes you up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, mouth dry. 

Your thoughts spiral, and eventually, you get to the point where it is just too damn much, and you’ll do almost anything to make that stop. Maybe you will do anything. I don’t know; you’re not me. It’s not for me to say.

Maybe this is where we separate the men from the boys… 

Maybe you can control something if you let it control you completely first. Maybe, you can stake ‘proprietary something’ if you just let go and let it take over. Fuck, man. I know you’re tired. Everyone knows you didn’t mean any harm by it. It gets heavy.

We understand.

It’s just time to own the harvest. You've been planting the seeds for years now.

It's time to reap…