On the Rocks- V
You don’t seem to love me
When our glasses are empty
And if you can’t love me, without alcohol
You don’t love me at all
I’d like to add a small note in here. Bear with me.
Oftentimes, when I write, I write from a dark place. But there are times when I can sit in the light and still write of the dark.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that just because my poems may seem like I’m in a bad place, doesn’t mean that I’m not in control of where and how I am. This particular set of poems caused a lot of confusion with an acquaintance of mine, since she assumed that I’m drinking nonstop and drinking on the job, and am even suicidal. And the fact that this blog, and my identity, must necessarily be anonymous, led her to believe that I was about to attempt suicide, and then to the other extreme- that I’m a troll. Like one of those middle aged men pretending to be teen girls or something. It got extremely accusatory on her side, and extremely confused on mine, before I could sort everything out. She still refused to believe that I wasn’t drinking while working, because of the difference in our time zones. My drinking time in the western hemisphere was her morning/ afternoon, so she assumed that I was also spending my lunch breaks at the hospital hiding and chugging from a flask, or something.
Pardon my French, y’all, but I know my shit. I know my responsibilities and I carry my ethics and my moral duties more precious than life. That applies not only to my patients, but to my friends, my acquaintances, and just about every thing and person in the universe around me. And I do get in bad places inside my head sometimes, but I defy anyone to find a moment whee I gave less than my all to someone who needed my attention, both professionally and personally. And I take it as an insult of the most personal form.
There’s probably not a soul luckier than me, to have found the most caring and loving corner of the Internet to flourish in. There are people here who’ve nurtured me, tempered me, schooled me and taught me- and loved me all the while. There have also been those who got carried away by some of my writing. With utmost humbleness, let me please remind you- poems are open to interpretation. If I’m writing of drowning myself in whiskey, I’m drinking, not actually drowning. If I’m writing of crying myself to sleep, I may be, I may be not- but that is no reason for you to hurt yourself. The Internet is a vast place. If I’m away for a day and there’s a delay in my response, it does not mean that I’m hanging from a ceiling fan somewhere. Please don’t take such drastic steps- I feel terribly and horribly guilty that I even left space for such interpretation, that caused someone pain.
I feel like an ass, pretty much.
I’m way too confused to make sense, even. So I’m winding this up here, with a bucket load of love and cuddles to all of y’all. I might be a depressed, dysfunction and drunkaholic cookie monstah, but I’m your loving cookie monstah nonetheless.
Always with love, and always with light,
Cookie ❤ ❤