Sunday, January 30, 2011

I wept with my face in your nightshirt.

I think the beauty is in the details. The quiet moments. The small gestures. I find it harder and harder not to write my husband's name here. In my AA confessional a few post back I did write it, because in my head I don't call him X. I wrote and when I realized what I had done I sat there horrified, as if anyone out there that read this saw it too and knows.

I complain a lot about the tight quarters in which we live, but to be honest all my favorite moments are in close proximity to him. The glow of his eyes in the bunk light, the beer on his breath and the smoke mixed with hair spray in his hair. The counter of a 100 different dressing rooms sitting there like a child watching their parent dress for a date. The way he will hold my hand with his left hand an place his right hand on my inner wrist when we walk, as if he knows he has to use both hands to keep me here. And in that knowing he also knows that we are both fragile and scared. I'll forever let him cling to me.

Last night he took me in his arms backstage. Put one hand on the small of my back and danced with me. Slowly and longingly dancing to the sound of the load in. Cases clanked and workers stomped on the stage a few feet away, but in that moment we were love. I wanted to possess the simple gesture forever. I wanted to lock myself up in those arms, that hair those breaths. I wanted to take him far away from there. He pulled back and smiled at me. I tried to smile back. Adorable.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

I'm safe up high, nothing can touch me But why do I feel this party's over? No pain inside, you're my protection But how do I feel this good sober?

When I first went on tour it was like a permanent vacation. I had no worries and no concerns. I could be trashed 24 hours a day and it wouldn't make a difference, because nothing was expected of me. And perhaps that is why I did it. I wasn't a "fuck yeah" dancing on the table and making out with groupies kind of trashed, I was more of an alcoholic trashed. Very quickly I hid it. I would drink in bathroom stalls, I would hide booze in other containers. I wouldn't feel right if I wasn't drinking by noon. I was numb.

X knew. He didn't like it, but he was as clueless as I was to try to stop it. He hid booze from me. He watched me, he made others watch me. Z was up my ass all the time since he's X's best friend. But Z wasn't nice about it. He'd say things like " I can't fucking believe that out of all the skanks that want a shot with X he married your drunk ass." That didn't make it better. I drank because I was lonely and scared.  I was out of place. I only had X and there I was defying him. I don't mean defy as in he forebode me to drink, but he loves me. And as I said before he's actually more normal than you'd expect. He doesn't want an alcoholic for a wife an he doesn't want me to be unhappy. Sadly we never figure out how to fix that.
I don't drink anymore. X convinced me that I was too good for that. It was more than that, but that is what it came down to. And after I stopped drinking I started to recoil even more. I started to become obsessive with things and try to figure out ways to break out of this. I also started writing this.
"Three finger whiskey pleasures the drinker, but moving does more than the same thing for me." 
- That line is utter BS. Moving isn't the closest thing to being free. It's the farthest thing. I don't feel free moving all the time. I feel lost and trapped and scared. I feel dis shoveled and wayward. I feel kept. X loves me. I know that. But I find myself more and more using one man's love as my rationalization for my unhappiness. But how do I leave? How can I tell him I want to go home now. And when I go home what will I do? This is all I am now. And at home I'm even less than I am now.

P!nk - Sober (Live Performance) [AMA 2008] HQ