Jaimison Whiskey

One-on-one

As I let my thoughts race through my head in the silence of my bedroom I hear my grandfather clock on the third floor start to sing.

I don’t dare to open my eyes to actually check the time, for I wish time didn’t exist in this moment. I wish I didn’t exist in this moment. I patiently wait to hear how many times the clock will strike. 1… 2… 3… 4…. 5… “Five am? Not bad”, I think to myself, reminiscing on the past three weeks where sleep was not an option unless under the influence of drugs.

I start whispering to myself as if I’m calming my inner thoughts down, but I can only stay calm for so long. As I fight against my thoughts, my whispers get louder and turn into actual words. I can’t help but to cut the strings that have so tightly woven my eyes shut, and face the light of morning; reality. I tear my covers from my body to feel paralyzed by the chill of my room, but the monster inside of me is not phased by it. My own mind has a mind of its own.

It’s a one-on-one battle between me and my mind.

There is a force like no other streaming through my body causing me to rush out of my bed and up the stairs as if someone is following behind me with intentions to kill me. I start to sweat. I get sick thinking about how if someone were actually behind me at this moment I wouldn’t try to run from my own death.

I rush to the bathroom, where I stare at myself in the mirror until I am forced to feel sick by the way I look. These bruises on my face remind me that I am a horrible human being. I want to die at the sight of my own face. Does that make me crazy? Then, you enter my mind. It’s almost routine at this point. I know that all thoughts lead back to you, and the thought of your smile.

That smile is my worst enemy. There is so much sweetness and love to its appearance, but I am no fool. What lies behind that smile is what causes my to believe you are friends with the devil. Not only are you the reason I become nauseous over the sight of my own face, but you make it impossible to think straight.

It’s a one-on-one battle between you and I.

You wonder why I choose to tell white lies, and wait to spill the truth when I feel ready, instead of seeing you hurt with the smallest truth.

Look at my past, look what I have gone through. The truth has gotten me no where but hurt. Hurt by my own mother, and abused by my ex boyfriend. How can anyone assume I ever could feel comfortable telling the truth? Who was I to believe things would be different with you? Look where we are now. You destroyed not only my heart, but also my face, because I told you the honest truth about something I had done wrong.

Why should I trust you with your hands if you don’t even trust me with my words?

I’m afraid that if I give up on you, you’ll give up on you too.

The norm

I saw you the other day.

It was the hardest thing I’ve had to do. And we keep it a secret.

The whole secrecy thing makes it fun to me, in the most fucked up way. I crave you, and I always have. Sneaking around is what we have done best because it thrills us.

How can I just allow myself to fall back under your spell of asshole techniques? I cannot. I already have.

Things will never be back to normal. Never. And you think that this will blow over and go away… Maybe it will for you. For me? I’m forced to look at these scars on my face everyday, and my eye sight is only going to get worse as years pass.

This is going to be a part of me forever.

We will never be able to slip back into the norm.