No one really wants honesty or reality, that’s why we spend so much time avoiding it. You hit a blunt and pretend yesterday didn’t happen, you drink…limitlessly in hope of blacking out the history of your existence, or at least reducing it to a point so thin you could drop it into the ground like a ball out of a cannon and leave it there for some unsuspecting son of a bitch to step on.
And there is something about the self-medication and abuse that also acknowledges the damage that has been done. It highlights the fact that you are a fucked up son of a bitch that has legitimate problems you legitimately don’t want to deal with.
There-n-sits the gun in the house.
They died. but the thought of them…deciding to reclaim you is driving enough for you to keep running. Even from yourself.
Like Dorothy in the rabbit hole, you’re just in the wrong place.