Sometimes There is a happy ending

I spent years alone walking the frozen wasteland of the unloved. I still remember the first few months being back in the single life. I was happy then, I’d left the grasps of someone to whom I had opened myself too in a moment of insanity and clearly been left of the worse for it. It’s looking back to then that I understand why we are happy before we realise we are unloved and alone. It’s so that we don’t go running back to our past tormentor. It’s a defence mechanism to keep us away from those that cause us harm.

It was when I preached this back then that I encountered one argument always, “you aren’t unloved what about you’re parents and your friends”. So I will say it now again as I have said before, there are different types of love and that love which you receive from your friends and family is not what I was longing or seeking. I was seeking an intimate love and it was that hunger that was killing me slowly.
You’d think people would be queuing up to date each other considering how much it hurts to be alone but apparently that thought is wrong, It seemed that everyone but me had found there soul mate and boy did that thought hurt so I had a few flings here and there with superficial people who cared more for gifts than anything else and had clearly never felt love in their life. Which made me realise a curious thing about love, you don’t crave it till you’ve felt it at least once in your life. It’s a drug that you need only take once and you are addicted to it for life.

I think I hit rock bottom after about a year or so after that, I was spending every second day in a bar crying into my beer, as if it wasn’t watered down enough to begin with. I don’t remember much of that evening except the unpleasant feeling when they pumped my stomach and then again later when my family huddled around me.

I had nearly died from alcohol poisoning; apparently the barman was new and didn’t know when to cut someone off and so he kept serving me drinks till I passed out on the bar. I spent the better part of a month in that Hospital and that’s when I took a fancy to someone for the first time in a long time. She was the nurse in charge of my ward. She smiled warmly at me when she checked my chart and always provided pleasant conversation.

As I look down at everything that happened, all the heartache, all the hurt I experienced. It’s clear that asking out the nurse who treated me for Alcohol poisoning was not my brightest moment. So I learnt Hitting rock bottom twice is not something most people can survive, and certainly not me. Because now I’m staring at my bruised arm still full of needle holes and the final needle that proved my downfall still lying next to my body.

Sometimes there is a happy ending but obviously not for me.