Oblivion

When I think of anger, I think of red hot vomit coming out of my nose, of laying my entire hand on the horn of my car instead of just tapping it. I think of her whipping around in our kitchen, throwing a spoon so hard across the room that it shattered a plate in the sink. I think of looking down into that sink at the age of eight, and cleaning up someone else's rage.

When I think of nostalgia, I think of her getting drunk. Of too much fun. Of selfies and long walks at night and booze coming out of our noses after laughing too hard. I think of the hospital, of how badly things can end. There is no visiting a hospital without a sense of an ending - there are no new beginnings when you're being restrained, when you're being told it's all in your head anyway.

Anger is like a drug. When you raise your fists to hit a wall, and smear it with the innards of yourself, that is blood running too hot. Nostalgia is anything but: at its core, it is a heavy hit of someone else's fist in your gut.

Nostalgia is dangerous. I think it's more dangerous than anger. And to quote some girl's Tumblr from 2012: "Nostalgia is a dirty liar that made things seem better than they were."

A dirty liar. Of puking into dumpsters when there's too much vodka. But it's all in the name of fun, right? I have to physically remind myself, by looking at pictures, that it wasn't like that at all. That people die because of alcohol, that people throw spoons across rooms because they are too hungover to function.

I drink. I drink quite a bit. But never in a million years do I let anger win.

I've learned that.

For me, the dirty liar is the one who ruins moments in the present day because "everything used to be so much easier." I get bitter. In the worst moments, I can convince myself that I used to be happier.

That is dangerous: it is an ice pick in the present, rose colored glasses.

Alcohol and anger are a dangerous combination. But when I get wine drunk and think of my past, I just get sad. And because I have severe depression, that's a dangerous head space to be in. Maybe I've just learned to control my anger. But nostalgia? That son of bitch keeps coming back for seconds.

It's dicey, actually, which one is more dangerous. Learn which one makes you pick up silverware and use it as a weapon. It can be more convoluted than just what grips you in the present moment. There's repercussions to every single one of our actions, mental or physical.

I raise a glass to nostalgia, because becoming friends with your enemies is better than sitting in a room, alone, drinking yourself into oblivion.