And I'll Drink Myself to Death Or At Least, I'll Drink Myself to Sleep...

A part of me drops its head asks why I cannot catch a break. A part of me shrugs and asks "what can you do?" A part of me looks at the sky and just mutters "fuck". A real, physical part raises a shaky hand and pops another codeine, my mouth dry, trying to summon up the spit to take it. I take it with a smile... because smiling through the pain is the best lie a man can pull off.

Those two things... my face turned to the sky, and that muttered word... those two things completely describe my feelings toward life lately. That exhaustion, or perhaps rather that exasperation, and more importantly that intense, unending loneliness that drives me further and further into searching for something that will at least numb the pain, if not help me defeat it. But everything eventually turns its back on me.

I just... I want to give someone that ultimate happiness, you know? Maybe I make people happy sometimes... but I want to give that happiness, that life-affirming joy, that can only come when you realize that there is someone out there who thinks the entire world of you. But... no one wants it from me. Everyone wants it from someone else. And I know that I can make people happy... against all odds, I made Jill happy. I am a good boyfriend. I am caring. I am considerate. I am romantic, and affectionate, and... I have some tragic, unnoticed-by-me flaw that makes me completely unsuitable for love. I am a disappointment to my Mother. I have slowly become more sick of myself as this wears on. I am unable to make *anyone* happy.

That's not only what I want. I want someone to love me. I want, very much, for someone to show me that I am worth something. Yeah, at the moment, I need someone else to prove that to me. I want someone else to choose me above all others. I mean, there are plenty of people who will say they do love me, and who really do, and I'm happy with that. But is there anyone who would do that? Who would pick me, above all others? Yes, I am selfish. I have come to terms with that.

The codeine doesn't work as well anymore. The alcohol just makes me angry. Together they make me hallucinate. But... maybe not this time. I will fix myself the perfect cocktail.

Sing it with me now boys and girls; Whiskey is my kind of lullaby...