A Drunken Night in My Depressed Mind

A long time ago, my now ex-girlfriend and I were having a bit of a turbulent time. Weeks before, I lost a dare and she won a ‘drunk ticket’ from me – a chance to get me drunk whenever and why ever she might want. I still remember the entire night that she cashed in that particular chip.

She asked me to come meet her in UWI, and I ended up going to SuperPharm with her. Little did I know she was buying some snacks so I’d have some food in my system when she got me drunk. When we got back into the car to head to her place, she said “You know, I’m gonna use the ticket, right? We need a good argument.”

Maybe we did. I didn’t say anything, but I was upset. I was probably upset for a while. I felt like what I felt and was feeling, and all the worries and emotions and thoughts I was dealing with were insignificant to my girlfriend in the decisions she was making about me. It didn’t impact how she would talk to or about me, how she saw the things I was doing for her, or just me in my completeness. Not to say that it felt like she didn’t care for me. It just felt like us caring for each other was overshadowed by something, and that I was just supposed to sit there and like that.

Anyway, long story short, I ended up chugging a glass of red wine, three shots of Jose Cuervo and two glasses of Jagermeister on an empty stomach, deliberately because this lovely young lady made the mistake of telling me that she wanted me drunk. I remember playing Taboo, testing to see if I can walk in a straight line, stopping her from drinking more wine, her stealing a kiss from me, and singing this song. I deliberately remember singing this song, my voice falling under the strain of my emotions. And then a red bucket around my face.

I found myself listening to it now, because I suppose I still feel the very same way that I felt when I sang it to her in my drunken stupor the first time – I would more than tie a man up and push him in a white van if it meant I could be with that woman. I still would, even where I am right now. But, more importantly, I feel unsure that anything would make a difference considering where I am now. That it wouldn’t matter if I was the person kidnapped, or even if I kidnapped myself. She still would have no reason to come to me if she didn’t want to.

So I feel like I’m singing to myself…

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