#/takingallmymedicinetotakemythoughtsaway

[where-ls-my-mlnd]

After confirming what I knew to be true, but feared to be false, he raises his empty glass, declaring, “I’m done with the shots for the night, but I’ll cheers to that.” And I feel my heart clench a little bit; hit hard by the touching gesture. Oh, man, I think I’m making him even softer... Or maybe he was always this soft — but never felt safe enough to be until now. I don’t get tangled up in the particularities, the intricate details; there’s no urgent reason to uncover them, and besides, maybe he’ll confide them in me someday, that’s what friends do, after all. Instead I beam at him and pick up a shot, raising it alongside his. “Fuck yeah, let’s cheers. But before we do, I...I’d like to make a quick toast.” I pause for a moment before clearing my throat. “To finding friendship in the most peculiar places. To me finally being able to breathe again, to you conquering your first shot and coming out tonight with my crazy ass and actually seeming to enjoy it quite a bit — it’s fucking great to see you smiling this much, J. To you, to me, to us. May the spirit of this night live on forevermore, may the rest of our days be filled with exuberance, laughter, good times and good people, and may the hangover that I’m certain to get tomorrow be forgiving. Cheers!” Our glasses clink and the sound resonates somewhere deep within me, clearing the awful heaviness that used to live in my bones and easing my spirit, mind and body. “Cheers,” he echoes, and there’s just something so dearly sacred about this moment that I find myself called to extend it for a little while longer, hesitating to take my shot, instead leaving the glass suspended in the air as I stare at J with the most peaceful, happy expression I’ve worn in months. We really did find each other in the most peculiar place, but god, I’m grateful that we did. With a slight tilt of my head, I take the shot, swallowing the liquor down and adding the empty glass amongst all the others. The sharp taste snaps me out of my sentimental fog, and I laugh a little, shaken by the intensity of my own feelings. “God, I’m getting so emotional...” I muse with only a little bit of shame in my voice. “I can’t even blame it on the alcohol, that’s just how I am. I’m a little cry baby sometimes. I’m like, super sensitive to a lot of things...you better pray you have experience in dealing with highly emotional people, ‘cause that’s what you’re in for, bein’ friends with me.” “I think I’m qualified,” he quips without missing a beat, and my anxious heart feels affirmed. No, I know you’re qualified... Fucking more than qualified. That was expert, the way he handled my emotional breakdown on Sunday. I try to block out that tremendously painful night, but I still remember what he did for me. I’ll always remember that moment, where I was sitting on the bench, and I saw him, and I could finally get a full breath again. That’s what it is. His presence feels like the first breath of fresh air after it rains. Like the fog had been lifted. Like my pain just sort of...shook loose. It hurt a little less. It didn't go away, but it lessened, and god, that's a feat that I can't even achieve on my own, much less with the aid of another person. And J did it. He made me feel okay again. And that's something that I simply cannot stop obsessing over. No one else does that for me. How could they? I don’t open up to a single soul. Sometimes I feel like the loneliest person in the universe and it’s all my fault. It’s just, I always have to worry with everyone else. I always have to filter myself and wrap myself up in this neat little non-offensive package so that they don't get scared and run away and I never get to just say what I'm fucking feeling because it's disturbing, what I feel and think disturbs people. It disturbs myself. And I'm well aware that...that normal people aren't like me. Normal people don't get scared by their own thoughts or crushed by their own feelings. Not like I do. My feelings, it's just...it's too big. My feelings are just too big. There isn't any space for logic or reason or anyone else or even myself. But somehow everything is...different with J. I have a dangerous feeling that I might grow to regret it, like I do every time I let someone in, but I feel like I can be myself around him. Like he...accepts me. Like maybe he knows what I feel better than anyone. Maybe he has the same poisonous thoughts and maybe he has the same unbearably painful feelings. It's a disgusting thing to take comfort in, I know, and I feel filthy for even daring to, but when I said I'm gonna be alone for the rest of my life, and he said he was, too...jesus, that's never happened to me, ever. No one has ever just agreed with my negativity before. I'd be lying through my teeth if I said it didn’t bring me relief. I didn't have to feel like such a fucking outsider, for once. I hate that he said it and I hate that he meant it and I hate, so, so fucking badly, that he feels that way deep in his soul, that he thinks of his future, his long, bright future, and only sees isolation and despair. If I think about it too long, I'll start bawling and wanting to fix whatever is wrong with him and take him into my apartment and not let him leave until I've convinced him of his worth. So I can’t. I can’t think about what it means for him. A part of me likes what it means for me, though. I like that he felt comfortable enough to just fucking say something like that to me. I like that I got lucky enough to get a glimpse into his mind, even if it was the first and only one I'll ever get. I like that he told me, without even realizing it, that I'm not alone. I like that he didn't run. It makes me think that he and I aren't as different as I thought. It has to be true. It has to. Because instead of feeling that devastating, loud, screaming disconnect with the person I'm opening myself up to, I felt this...this wonderful, welcoming connection. It wasn't a magical breakthrough or anything but it felt like something close to it. Like maybe we're cut from the same fucked up cloth and because of that we can accept each other in the way that nobody else would ever be able to. Maybe all the mystery was really just misunderstanding. Maybe I don’t have to keep lying anymore. Maybe he’s just as sad as I am. That thought makes my heart hurt, so I shove it down and pretend like I never came up with it in the first place. Like a half-reformed addict, my first instinct is to take another shot to wash down all this pain, but I realize, horrified, that there are none left. I’m not sure what horrifies me more; how quickly they disappeared or how overwhelmingly desperate I’ve become for more. I thought I had distanced myself from that fiendish lust, the kind that I can feel all over my body. Guess old habits die hard, huh? “Alright, where’s the fucking bartender at, I need more shots, like instantly...wait, did you say you were nauseous? Oh, dude, I’m sorry, that sucks! I’m gonna order you a water. It’ll stabilize you a bit.” And then, immediately after saying that, the bartender comes back into view with J’s glass of coke, frantically apologetic as she sets it down in front of him: “Shit...I’m so sorry...I got caught up on the other end and almost forgot. Here...” He smiles at her, “No, it’s fine, really. Thank you.” Oh, there he goes...Mr. Manners strikes again... His gesture seems to mollify her anxiety, the last of it oozing out in her self-deprecating joke, “These Friday nights are getting to me. I’m Tamara—just call for me if you see me over there and need anything else.” “Wait, before you go, could I just get another round of shots and a glass of water?” I ask, and she nods, “Totally, yeah, I’ll be right back.” And she must be really remorseful for taking a while with J’s coke, because she returns to us expeditiously. In front of J she places a glass of ice water, and in front of me, a brand-new tray of shots, lined up in a perfect row of six, and I have to fight to keep from salivating. “Anything else?” “No, I’m good,” I say, not lifting my gaze from the shots. Really, I’m great... “Okay, well, enjoy!” She says then walks away. I don’t wait another second before taking a shot, but after I swallow and turn my head to face J, I almost pass out from the thick, whirling vertigo. It feels like everything is rotating even though I’m sitting still, and if that wasn’t enough, if that chronic unsteadiness wasn’t enough— I can feel that fuzzy feeling in my chest, a bone-deep warmth setting in. I can feel all of the stress leave my body, I can feel my limbs becoming lax, warm waves of relaxation vibrating through every single part of me. Yeah, I think dazedly and with a scary amount of delight, there it is. The five shots of tequila are hitting now, that’s for certain, and the sudden effects elicit an easy grin from me. “I’m feelin’ good, J...” I say in a sing-song voice, then proceed to crack up at myself. “Feelin’ really nice right now...um, anyway, so drink your fucking water, man. It helps. Any time you feel like you’re gonna throw up, take a sip of ice cold water. You won’t feel sick anymore. It’s like impossible to throw up after drinking ice cold water. It ain’t just for nausea though. You should always drink water in between drinking alcohol...I should probably order a water too, but fuck it, I can get it later, it’s okay.”