There is comfort in a shot glass

I’ve been dealing with a very impersonal end to what was a meaningful friendship and love. The impact of this loss has hit me head on – my brain and heart have been painfully raw. I look in the mirror and a red-eyed ghoul glares back at me. I can feel my hunger fading, the weight slowly shedding from my body. A couple years ago in a span of 5 anxiety-ridden months, I lost 20 lbs. I don’t mean to be, but I am an emotional dieter. Remind me to eat some fries would you please?

Never did I think I would be dealing with the things I’m dealing with in this life. The twists and collisions. But then again I never imagined I’d be here – in this Eastern state at all. I have lived here as honestly as I could have. That I know. But I’m learning that there is always insecurity and pain even in the greatest loves. I’m learning that being an adult simply means you are filled with more holes than you were as a child. And we have no one else but ourselves to fill them up. I am learning that a town with only one emotional anchor has suddenly cast me out and there is nothing left for me here now. Soon I hope to pack up what I love – my boy and my cat and find a new home.

Over the weekend, I got drunk, took too many shots. And for a few brief hours I felt I had escaped. I was cradled in low lights, unknown company and the most wild laughter I’d heard in a while. There is comfort in strangers at times. There is even temporary comfort in a shot glass. This was my first drinking to forget moment – and yes, I realize my father is an alcoholic and no – I will not make a habit of doing this, but when the last round was ordered and the waitress clunked them on the table, a bit of goldschlager summited the glass leaving a gold flake around the rim. I plucked it with my finger admiring the ridges and shine and placed it on my tongue hoping it would taste sweet or light me up. It didn’t – it tasted like nothing, but it’s presence was more beautiful that a taste could ever be. It felt like an omen, a post card of sorts and I feel myself there now – a flat little heart climbing out from the viscous sludge, a flake, a fledgling standing on the rim waiting for a wet finger to lift me up.

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