Whiskey #1: a bit about the anxiety

Whiskey,

time to have a hissy fit with you

again

because you are not my friend.

You send me into

temporary states of evasion and oblivion.

How do I feel

when I think I need you?

My mind begins to race and reel

and I think about so many of the things

I hope to do, and I pray

that tomorrow is the day my

“dreams come true,”

that readers will pay me

to write whatever I want to say,

thoroughly contemplated and elucidated  

of course, so I can effectively take my readers away

from their immediate frustrations

and sway to the beat of my rhymes;

…oh, and I suffer from trichotillomania.

Why don’t I just shave? 

I pick so persistently that my hands begin to shake,

frustrating my entire body with so much tension

that I take another shot

of you. whiskey, cause I don’t know

what else to do.

I meditate, masturbate, read my favorite poets, 

make a few comments on social media,

try to pay more attention to the TV

than my overstimulated mind and body.

There’s all that, plus the loneliness. 

I hate this negativity, this self-pitying obsessive-compulsive rumination!

And I hate worrying about earlier in the day, hoping I didn’t ruin any conversations,

come across as fake or offensive…

…somewhere in the mix

of striving for eloquence,

informed and critically analyzed opinions,

trying to be interesting,

excellent at listening,

participating in giving and taking in a way

where everyone is treated like more than just

one out of nearly 8 billion…

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