The Fear
I was awoken by the fear.
Those empty memories inside my head where I know I have done something but I don’t know what that is.
I do not remember the words that I spoke or the moves that I made, but I know that they are there.
Locked away inside my head.
Drowned out by the little drummer boy playing rhythms on my frontal lobe.
I can feel him.
His constant thud-ump, thud-ump, thud-ump.
Heavy marching boots across my thoughts.
I fell asleep knowing that the fear would come but there was nothing I could do.
Empty spaces in my mind where I know that I have lived but what is it that I have done?
Who did I offend? What do I regret?
I regret the night before.
But I know that this will happen again.
They say that drunken minds speak sober thoughts but what about the thoughts that I don’t know I have? What about the drunken minds that are left empty and hollow?
What do I do, when those are all that I have left?
I was awoken by the fear.
The fear of emptiness and fear and regret.
But what I fear most is that this has become a habit.
An addiction that I crave.
And what do you do with an addiction that you just can’t quit?
“It’s just fun and games,” they say.
When they awake the next morning in a house they don’t remember on a street they’ve never seen.
“Everyone does it,” they say.
But I am not everyone.
I am Me.
I am broken and I am bleeding and my mind is shattered into a thousand pieces and
I was awoken by the fear.
Nothing is the same as it was yesterday because of the night before.
A jigsaw puzzle in my brain and all I can find are corners.
The beginning.
The sides, the middle, those are lost to me.
I can see stiletto heels and shiny dresses but I cannot see pyjamas, or make up wipes or falling asleep.
I see the beginning but not the end.
I was awoken by the fear.
Because I know that this has happened again and again.
And I don’t regret that.
How can I regret the nights I don’t remember?
Those empty memories inside my head where I know I have done something but I don’t know what that is.
I do not remember the words that I spoke or the moves that I made, but I know that they are there.
Locked away inside my head.
Drowned out by the little drummer boy playing rhythms on my frontal lobe.
I can feel him.
His constant thud-ump, thud-ump, thud-ump.
Heavy marching boots across my thoughts.
I fell asleep knowing that the fear would come but there was nothing I could do.
Empty spaces in my mind where I know that I have lived but what is it that I have done?
Who did I offend? What do I regret?
I regret the night before.
But I know that this will happen again.
They say that drunken minds speak sober thoughts but what about the thoughts that I don’t know I have? What about the drunken minds that are left empty and hollow?
What do I do, when those are all that I have left?
I was awoken by the fear.
The fear of emptiness and fear and regret.
But what I fear most is that this has become a habit.
An addiction that I crave.
And what do you do with an addiction that you just can’t quit?
“It’s just fun and games,” they say.
When they awake the next morning in a house they don’t remember on a street they’ve never seen.
“Everyone does it,” they say.
But I am not everyone.
I am Me.
I am broken and I am bleeding and my mind is shattered into a thousand pieces and
I was awoken by the fear.
Nothing is the same as it was yesterday because of the night before.
A jigsaw puzzle in my brain and all I can find are corners.
The beginning.
The sides, the middle, those are lost to me.
I can see stiletto heels and shiny dresses but I cannot see pyjamas, or make up wipes or falling asleep.
I see the beginning but not the end.
I was awoken by the fear.
Because I know that this has happened again and again.
And I don’t regret that.
How can I regret the nights I don’t remember?