This Isn't You.

That isn't you. That isn't you speaking to me, being rude and crass and interrupting everything I say. That isn't you, chastising me for having a boyfriend while my brother sits with his latest 'friend', the friend that we all know he's fucking. That isn't you, sitting in the armchair while we should be at a funeral service. That isn't you, falling asleep at eight o'clock in the evening.

That isn't you, Daddy. That can't be you speaking to me right now, because you don't sound like that. You aren't this person who sits in front of me, asking why I haven't eaten. You aren't the person who leaves the room when I just say I'm not hungry even though my stomach is grumbling.

This isn't you. This is the alcohol talking.