Friday, January 11, 2013

Well, I still don't know how many...

Will actually kill you, but I do have a general idea of how many will get you a charcoal slushee and and a 48 hour involuntary admit to a hospital, compliments of your oldest child.  In reality, I don't really know the actual number because I wasn't counting as I threw them in my mouth and chased them down the Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey whiskey.

How all this came to be is a long, twisted tale of hope, love, anger, pain and a complete betrayal of two people that I loved and thought I could trust.  Throw in a lot of alcohol and a dash of domestic violence and you've got your yourself a perfect recipe for self-destruction.  Or at least it would appear that way.

I am better now.  I wouldn't have done it had I not been so drunk and I don't have any plans to retry.  Not too say that I don't have fleeting wishes that I hadn't made that call that I don't remember to my oldest child and I had been left alone to go to sleep forever, because I do.  Whenever I recall the betrayal of the one, single person that I trusted most on this earth, and how it set this whole mess, which will reverberate throughout my world for the rest of my life, in motion, I do.  When I am lonely and I recall the new but exciting friendships are lost to me forever due to circumstances that occurred because of this betrayal, I do.

None of it can be undone.  Nothing can be changed.  The damage to my heart is permanent, I think.

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