Sunday, September 6, 2015

For My Genie, Who is Stuck in the Bottle

Written September 2015. 
July 2017 Update: She kicked that fucking bottle, has her first post-rehab job interview on Tuesday, and now I have come across this and I am tearing up like the skies above. 

I know;
  • It is a disease
  • You are trying but can’t substantially help it
  • The demons pulling you in, have run down your family line for generations
  • I am impotent. I could never rescue you.
  • I will never stop trying to rescue you but I do it only for myself. I need to know that I am doing something however impotent. 
  • The selection for who gets to beat it, is as random as the choice of who it catches in the first place
  • You very well might lose
  • A big part of you hopes you lose and get done with it
  • Aah... that sadly familiar simultaneous fear and desire for the end
  • Everybody who has given up on you had to, or they would have drowned with you
  • But you are a good person and are not one with your illness
  • I love you as much as I loved your mother and my heart will be all broken again if, like her, you lose
  • I will love you forever. Just for the sheer stubbornness of love. But also for all the priceless memories that come with a lifelong friendship in which, I have never needed to hold secrets
  • I write this only for myself; to help the late night tears along because my tears, are the only thing I still have control over.
With impotence that I am all too aware of, I send my life force out to you, love. May the random chaos that is life, pick you. May I get to tell you another of my raunchy secrets. Get well.  By randomness. By design. By science. Somehow, do.