extract from a new, undefined writing project:
Question from BalanceBeam:
“Don’t you get tired of it all? Or tired of my shit? Or tired of my starts, stops and detours along my road for the last x years?”
I know that we hear a radio station in our head that says—apparently very logically—that we should Drink Now. This voice speaks even when drinking is not appropriate, when we’re drinking too much, when we want to drink less, and when we promise to quit. This voice speaks even when we’ve already had too much, when we’ve fallen, and when we’re in legal trouble. This voice speaks even when we’re bitchy to our partners, when we’re missing work opportunities, and when we know—just really know—that it’s time to stop.
I know what this radio station sounds like, the one saying Drink Now. And that sound of wolfie is convincing.
Am I tired of stops and starts? Well, I know what it’s like. I know what that voice is like. I also know what it feels like to be here in the sober lighthouse. I shine out a light, repeatedly, always in the same direction. Some people see it, some don’t. Some see it and crash into rocks. Others see it and don’t trust it.
I try to keep doing my thing, whatever that is. I don’t run out into the water saying “pick me, pick me.” I broadcast something to compete with wolfie. Some people can hear it. Some can’t.
It’s really sad when you can’t hear my lighthouse (how’s that for a mixed metaphor), because booze can suck the life out of perfectly nice girls, and crash them on the rocks, even when they don’t want that to happen. No one wants to crash. No one ‘picks’ crashing. And it happens every single day to people who don’t want it. That’s sad and hard and disheartening. I wonder if I could be louder, or run out into the waves, or if I should try to say something a new way.
How do you combat the voice inside someone else’s head? By talking about my own head. And hoping that that’s enough.