I want to pretend that I am floating. That all the moments that bore pain and heartache are nothing to me. Just a spoon full of medicine that I slowly dissolved. The question of why I am here is invigorating my senses in the most haunting way. ‘I have purpose’, I tell myself every morning that I sigh and wait for the alcohol to slur my train of thought. I try to blend the days together by drinking, it gives me joy and eases the fact that I am aware of my current state of being. I’m tired of men, they want too much from me and give too little. They remind me too often of my father. Every night, I am chased into these dreams that fight the depths of my cognitive memory. They relieve what torments me during the day, the very thoughts that would otherwise wrestle me into to insanity. So, in some ways I am thankful for them.