Well, this is a novel feeling.
My first march 14 in thirteen years not blindingly drunk or spaced out on sleeping-pills.
Gods, that sounds bad, doesnt it?
Well, it was only once a year, and I have (to me anyways) good reasons.
But here I am, sober and clear-headed (as much as can be expected anyway), and I must admit that I do not care for it ONE FUCKING BIT!
My heart aches and my head hurts and I just want to be able to not think about him, and my life and how he messed me up so badly and how I still cant get past it all, no matter how many years get between us.
Daddy-issues. Its such a cliché, isnt it?
If he hadnt been a drunk, or depressed, or a sadistic shithead, where would I be today?
Who would I be?
So yeah, its a pity-party round here tonight.
If anyone reads this, have a drink for me. Hell, have ten. Its what he would have done.
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