Remembering the miserable me.

If there had been a tunnel from my dark little apartment to the liquor store, I would have taken it, every. Single. Day.

While out there, being invisible was all I really wanted.

Please, please don’t look at me.

That memory came to mind when I was walking through Amsterdam this afternoon, and watched a guy cross the street in a hurry, aiming for his front door without looking around.

I saw myself, in a split second, I experienced many painful years of living for the thing that I both hated and couldn’t be without, over and over again.

Numbing out.

Existing JUST enough to try and wipe out whatever I was thinking.

Going from feeling terrified to feeling nothing.

In those days, being outside made me feel utterly vulnerable and insecure, and I only felt safe when I was home, preferably on my own.

When I was out in the world I never looked up, my face hidden under hats and caps and hoodies and beard, always afraid of running into some kind of social event.

It was like I was holding my breath the whole time, from the moment I left my house till I got back, waiting for the sound of my front…