The Spiral

It starts with a drink and some friends. conversation. small talk.
and I can feel my mood swirling toward twilight. pressure behind
my eyes.

everyone is having fun. so I have another. everyone is having fun.
I pretend to.

A whirlpool forms in the center of the floor, and starts swirling around and around.

I don't want to go there. God no. Not again. I peer at all the laughing people over
my drink while my vision tunnels and I start flashing back and forth. To the past.
Then back. Again the past. Then back. The flashes get closer together, like the
lights in a subway when the train speeds up.

Most people can't tell there's something wrong with me. A few can. I avoid them.
I clutch the glass tighter and force a smile. Why is it that when the devil challenges
me I ALWAYS say "let's go motherfucker" ? Always. Who is he, to fairyfloss with me?
I'm angry.

I want to bleed. Bleeding makes me feel better. The whirlpool is large and dark now,
I am standing on the edge. No one else sees it. I say something strange and draw some
confused looks. One of my friends knows. She comes over and touches my hand, and
looks in my dark eyes. She asks what's wrong. I pretend there is no whirlpool and drink
my beer quickly. Another.

I see her eyes. She's trying to help. She can't help. She is trying so hard. I shut her out.

I can't let go of the pain. I'm standing in the middle of the whirlpool now. I am no longer
in the present, although I can see it and hear it and smell it and taste it. My vision tunnels
and I see another place forming around me--from the past--the noises of memory, the traces
of my existence. Clamoring for attention.

Synapses fire. The storm in my head rivals the whirlpool at my feet. Everyone is having fun.
I drink some more, and I am not the same anymore. I am very depressed. I remember her.
I remember what I did. What I didn't do. Violence. Regret. Pain.

Everyone is having fun.

I'm lonely. Unstuck in time. Another challenge to fight my demons, and I said "bring it on."

Can compassion reach back, to where I am now, with the world fading away into a gossamer
imitation? Can I drink myself into the past and not come back? I can. I will.

I need to leave and be alone. I'm ashamed of my darkness. I think everyone can see it in
my eyes. Some of them can. I feel dangerous and powerful, even while I am weak and lost.
I know what I'm capable of. But trouble shys away from me. People dart out of my path
even before they realize it. Trouble knows its own kind.

My friends are trying to reach me. Trying to reach. It confuses me. Why? Their words scramble
in my head and I can't figure them out. Don't they know I'm gone? I've dropped into the
whirlpool. And landed somewhere else. Sometimes I try to contact them. But it's the me of the
past. Reaching out a hand. And the message is garbled, strange, insane.

But I'm not IN sane. took the train out. straight down. straight. down.

Everyone is having fun. I am full of regret and sadness. Can't shake it. Don't want to.
I deserve it.

Everyone is having fun