I am more than this.

Too often I find myself huddled in an overly hushed basement, garage, backyard, caught up in a mess of vodka shots, second hand smoke, and a few puffs of something quality that everyone will hit but me. I make up for the lack of a high with a few more pulls from the handle. And soon I grab onto that oh so familiar landing. The one where I can rest my feet comfortably, although a bit wobbly. My mind is gone, so I feel safe. It's not me that's moving, speaking, thinking, so I can relax. There's no way any of you could judge me in this state. So I continue.

It usually hits me about an hour in. I need someone. I need to feel someone's presence close to my body even if it's just a messy fumbling around behind the blackened end of a bathroom door. I need someone here with me. Because I am not. Because I left myself somewhere between the liquor run and the seventh game of flip cup. So I need someone to reassure me. 

Touch me, say my name. That's all I ask of you. Remind me of who I am, who I forced myself not to be and tell me that I'm beautiful and I'm all you want. I'll eat it up with every slur of your syllables. I will take you in and drown who I think I am inside of you.

And then I wake up and feel nothing again. I am back to myself. Just a little headache that a few hours of sleep can fix. I forget my alter ego, the exuberant. I take a deep breath and realize that I wasn't myself. It was her last night, she let her guard down, she gave up her morals. Not me. I would never do that. 

But how long will it take for me to use up the last of her, and have nothing left but myself...