I am in an abusive relationship and I love it. I am happy when I am miserable. I love to be kicked when I am down. I love to wake up tired with a tear- stained face, aching throat, and all ambition drained from me. I must. Why else would I continue to imbibe something that makes me violent to my loved ones, that makes me apathetic towards going back to college, that makes me cynical about bettering myself at my job. Drowns my ideas that I used to give a fulfilling place in my writings. Alcoholism a specious, handsome devil that convinces you that you can't live with out it. Tells you that you are nothing without it. That you need it to be strong and calm. Makes you black and blue and then kisses your wounds, comforting you. I hate it. I love it. Sticks its tongue down your throat, sups on the honey and spits acid back in your face and tells you it loves you. I am in an abusive relationship and I love it. I am aware of all this, so therefore, I must love to be
abused. I must love to be struggling to keep my head above water- my thoughts creating the sea that tosses me about in a bottle of whiskey, the only life preserver- a few pieces of change I can collect to save up to buy my next drink.