
Today tears rolled down my cheeks in a steady stream, but there was no relief, just an emptiness inside. It feels physical. You could reach in and none of my organs would be there, not my lungs, nor my heart. My skin is just a vessel that holds nothing inside. A scarred and ugly vessel, with imperfections so numerous that it looks like a twisted Civil War battle map.
I wipe the tears before I reach the gate; I will make my lips turn up into a smile. I am three days sober. Once upon a time I was six months sober, so I can make this happen. I have zippers on my skin, so I can peel away what doesn’t belong anymore, and the drink will be the first to go. Passivity will be next. There are times when I need to respond and resist. No staring into space praying that it will disappear. It is waiting for me, and the sooner I react, the sooner the healing will begin. Just heal. That’s all I’m asking. Heal the skin. Put the organs back in. Zip it closed. Feel something, anything, the next time the tears roll down.

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