The Living Vine (Journal Entry)

The light at the end of my thorn garnished path seems to get a little brighter as I give it more slack. As I grow a little higher I get a little less cold. My vine is creeping up past that shade hanging over.

And I’m alright and I’m okay, and I’ll do fine as I cross fate. These thorns can’t stop my climb or snatch my fruits before they ripe.

And I will slither through the holes, slip right past the shards and stones. As my branches cross the wall, a perfect painting starts to grow.

Another seedling starts to hatch. A baby bird finds food to scratch. New life makes a home in this journey I have tolled. 

Super Nova (Journal Entry)

Guilt, shame, blame. I go through the motions then go back to bed. I can’t turn back and I can’t move forward. This pain in my gut is boiling over.

Fool me once shame on you. Fool me a thousand times and I lost my point of view. How many times can I endure your love? The bane of my existence is my surrender to your…

I… Can’t… Breathe when I think of all the times you shat upon my heart. Maybe this time it sounds a lot better but what is better what all you know is hurt? And I hate the way I feel most times. No words can fill that cup. I drink then I get drunk then I plant face into the dirt.

Step One: Powerlessness (Journal Entry)

Upon much contemplation over what powerlessness means to me I have reached the fullness of my conviction. I struggled with powerlessness the first time I got sober because it was easy for me to stop drinking. If I was powerless over alcoholism why was I able to quit with such ease? It wasn’t until my resentments came to a boil that I gave way to a nearly two-year run of binge drinking and blackouts.

Step One: The Pink Cloud (Journal Entry)

Last time I got sober I went through the Pink Cloud Syndrome, which lasted for ten months and ended in broken windows and a trip to the psych ward followed by a devastating relapse. At the time I was unaware of the pink cloud. I didn’t find out about the pink cloud until 1 1/2 years later when I entered rehab. 

Step One: Denial (Journal Entry)

“How dare anyone tell me I have a problem. I have been wronged. I have been mistreated. Everyone on the planet is a complete moron. I’m sick of being told I need to wait on the sidelines and accept the fact that I am doomed to destruction because everyone else has a problem. If I am forced to eat everyone else’s shit then I’m gonna drink while I do it so you can save the wagon for someone else…”

My excuses for drinking could go on and on for days…

Step One: What addiction looks like for me

As I have descended into the pit of physical, spiritual, mental and emotional decay, my life has become unmanageable. I find myself obsessing over people, places and things that have no direct impact on my current situation; my past, everything I lost, the news, how stupid I think everyone is, how much I hate honkeys.

Such mindless obsessions lead to compulsive behaviors; pacing, biting my nails, trips to the fridge, smoking cigarettes. By the end of the day I feel exhausted from the wreckage in my brain and just want to drink myself to sleep.

I am completely oblivious to the impact my actions have on those around me. It’s like I’m in my own self-imposed prison and I am the judge, jury and executioner whose consequences pertain to myself alone. I am inconsiderate of the fact that there are teenagers in the house who look up to me and take ques from my actions. I don’t care that my children are somewhere out there possibly concerned about me. I extinguish any flicker of hope in becoming a leader in the revolution by beligerently belting out whatever drunken tweet I can manage to produce while in total blackout.

My disease has thrown me into physical, mental, emotional and spiritual ruin. I am physically drained to the point where I don’t want to get out of bed most days. My mental exhaustion causes me to contimplate suicide regularly. I am emotionally distraught and completely powerless over depression. And I am spiritually incapable of summoning the will to carry on and build a new life founded on serenity.

My Only Wish (Journal Entry)

I wish I were a great writer. The type that never grows old. Endlessly quoted by inspiration junkies. Taught in schools across the globe. 

I want to be revered for my works, my contribution to mankind. Not for what I have or what I flaunt or where I live or how I dine.

I want to write words that paint a picture so vivid and divine you could sail the sea of wisdom, a thousand words to clear your mind. 

I want to dwell among the greatest, hold rank at the highest spot. And when I’m gone I’ll live forever through the words I have begot. 

Listen to Everyone ( Journal Entry)

Listen to everyone. We all have a story. We all hold a piece to the puzzle that unlocks the vault of glory. We all have a dream, a wisdom to behold. We all have a plan, we all want to be heard. 

Everyone stumbles, everyone lies. Everyone hurts, everyone cries. Everyone judges what they do not know. Everyone wants what they fail to sow. 

But tucked up in a mountain hidden far away, out of sight, out of mind, in a jar of clay. There’s a map to a treasure hidden in our souls. Those who seek alas find the love they can’t show. 

The Winepress of Hate (Journal Entry)

The delusions of mankind are like shards beneath my feet, bruises on my skin, a fight that I can’t win. I’m drowning in a winepress of narcissistic hate. Peddled out to foolish trolls drunk on hurt and fame. 

They stomp it out, then bottle it up, and pass it off as love. But the mess that’s left behind is all but brushed under the rug. 

The fruit of the vine that keeps on giving, never stops, it carries on. When everything is taken, new life begins to grow. Gathered into compost, scattered in the fields, feeding all the new vines for generations yield. 

So you can throw me in the winepress of narcissistic hate. You can take what’s worth the giving and leave the rest to fate. But beware of the delusion that you’re the one in charge as you sip upon my vengeance and blackout in the yard. 

A Letter to Myself (Journal Entry)

Dear Sweet Maria,

If every famous love quote were compiled into a song, my love for you would remain unsaid. Your passion sets me off into a frenzy of incoherent jitterbugs. Your strength in the forefront of repetitive injury can only be described as the spirit of grace. 

When you fall, you get back up with thrice the wisdom you had before. And even when you fall again, I have no doubt you will endure. 

I am twitterpated by your beauty, not just the cover, but the book that lurks beneath. If you ever gave up on dreaming the Earth would tremble in despair.

Eternal Love,

Maria