Its like a switch.
I am Diseased.
My thinking has been disastrous for nearly 4 decades.
One day Im great.
The next day, Im drunk.
One day, I have a solid plan.
The very next, Im at the liquor store, purchasing the very poison that kills my insides.
Im dying. That is what I continuously repeat in my skull.
Its not really true, but I manage to believe it, and so in turn I make that a reality.
The truth of the matter here is not the Liquor thats the problem.
Its what I see in my tiny little treehouse.
I cannot see the forest from inside of here. Just the limb from which Ive clung for a very long time.
Nothing changes in my treehouse, just the Seasons as they go. I dont wanna look out the window anymore. So I drink again, the window shade Ive built isnt strong enough, so I nail a sturdy board over a part. Now I can still see, but just a little.
I can get by on "just enough" effort to continue. Just enough food, just enough job, just enough effort. I cant fit alot in this small treehouse Ive built. Just enough.
I started building this box in a tree many years ago, and I didnt even know it. I knew there was a forest, people kept telling me about it, lush, vibrant, ALIVE. I wouldnt have any of it. I was thirsty.
Dirty little faggot who was to grow up and be just like his Father. Useless. Unworthy.
The cassette tape is stuck in the player, and I try to get out, wheres that screwdriver? Fuck, it wont stop playing! Im lookin for tools but instead I found another bottle of Brandy.
I have Tools. They are scattered all over this box, so careless I am. Ive strewn them everywhere. But now,because Ive covered the window, its dark in here, I have to crawl around and "feel" out which tools Ive got in my grasp. Oh God, where did I leave that screwdriver?
I drink again, Ill look for the Tools later, but for now, Ill shame myself and take a gulp. The Tools will ALWAYS be there, for later.
Suddenly, drunk, I definitely want out of the Treehouse, but I cant find the door! Its way to dark now.
Delusion confronts me in the dark. the "Im gonna change now" tape starts playing.......Right.
"Im gonna this, and Im gonna that"
Empty promises, my bottles empty. Poor baby.
I shake and shudder doing the usual"Why?" confrontation with myself.
If Id be half smart, Id turn around and look at myself. But NO WAY. Filth, face wasted, hair dry as hay, skin molting, nerves burnt to a crisp. Im not gonna look.
Its an awful tragedy. When I drink, its not because its fun. Its never a pleasure.
It hurts. Agonizing pain, physically and mentally. I cannot see the forest from the trees.
When I drink, my TIME stands still, whilst all else flows by. I age, I decay.
When I finally "come to" and the shaking stops, I start right up, to clean the mess Ive borne.
It usually begins with my immediate surroundings, that awful smell.
Then I pretend Ill never do it again, praying, sobbing, explaining, as if....
Then a Logger, a Woodsman appears and says"Times up" we're clear cutting this shit.
Ive been evicted from my safe space.
Luckily, seeing as Ive drank most anything and everything away, I dont have alot to carry out. It fits in a bag.
The light outside is awful, and I am blinded till I reach the Forest floor. My eyes adjust but I can only see so far. Im not used to it. My bag is so heavy, its mostly filled with shit.
Im gonna put it down. Im tired of lifting it, adjusting, it, ow! its poking my ribs.
Im gonna start walking. If I am lucky, I will have enough energy to make to a Vista, where perhaps Ill be able to really "See" the forest from the Trees.
