I’m ready to leave you behind.

That’s a lie. I’m not ready. I won’t ever be ready unless I force myself. And it’s less of a wanting to leave than a need.

And I love you but I hate you. I hate you so much and I hate that I love you and I hate that I need you and I hate that I really need to learn how to not need you.

You’re the only thing that keeps my mind quiet, that silences the racing thoughts and numbs the shitty feelings and keeps that ever present dread at bay. And yet you always leave me feeling worse the next day.

I need you to help me fall asleep, I can’t turn off my thoughts if you’re not there to turn them off for me. I hate being awake but you blur the lines enough to make it bearable.

I can’t go a day without you by my side. I shake and I shiver if I don’t have you near, I try to leave you behind and I end up rushing to find you before you close me out.

I keep you hidden and I don’t, I get drunk on you in order to face this and that and increasingly everything. I make sure no one knows when I have you tucked away in my room, like a secret I’m not willing to give up but I know isn’t healthy in the slightest. That I know if anyone knew of, they’d tell me to get away, to leave you behind, to make better choices.

But it’s so hard. I know the long term damage you’re doing to my mind, to my relationships, to my work, to my life. Even when you’re not there, everything seems cloudier than it used to. Thoughts slip and slide and memories seem to fade. I can’t quite grasp things the way I used to. I interact with people, but I seldom remember what I said, what others said, what really happened in those interactions because you’re always there. I know it’s not healthy. I know it’s destructive. I know I need to let you go, but I am addicted.

The bartender pours me another drink. I take a sip, feel the shame seeping into my bones. I have another. I go home, racing thoughts blissfully dulled, like they’re dragging through sludge. I pour myself another, as soon as I feel that buzz start to fade. I hate it, I love it, I hate it so much. I vow that this is the last.

But it’s not the first time I’ve made this promise to myself, and if I’m honest it probably won’t be the last. One day, I hope it will stick. I hope I’ll be able to leave you behind, to be able to function without the crutch you provide. And when that happens, when I can find the strength to let you go, well.

Good fucking riddance.