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  • Writer's pictureAndrew Douglas Hartzler

A Relapse

A mishap in judgment, combined with the narcosis of one part contraband, ninety-nine parts pain. The inner pain which we still run from at the first glimpse we are given. The pain which we have worked so hard to overcome, yet we fall into a pit of self-medicated resolve without even knowing what we are doing. Why do I desire to be taken out of reality? What is so wrong with the present that I chose to live in a body plagued by an illusionary perception of reality. Have I truly overcome my pain? Have I truly overcome the indifference I feel or have I just mastered the practice of burring my resentment deep within. The internalized homophobia still lay hold of my heart to a point in which my unconscious deems the present unsafe. I have lost a week of life because my ego saw a chance to escape from the reality I struggle every day to face. The reality of stepping into a car almost as old as me, the reality of having no money, being told no, not knowing where my father’s heart lies or what his mind has chosen to believe. Does he see me as a disappointment, a disgust, an ill-fated figure to carry on the Hartzler name? Does he look at me for all that I have not lived up to be as his words bear disappointment and his actions require repayment? I stepped back from this reality to find temporary happiness from my mind being wiped clean of all restless attributions. A maladaptive mechanism which I used to cope, to find temporary relief through an addictive apparatus. These methods are not sustainable, yet their motivators remain unchangeable. I cannot rely on the hope that someday my father will look at me the way he once did. I cannot be dependent on his acceptance for my own motivation to continue on in this life. I cannot count on him to fall back on, to save me when I lack any might. I must, however it may be, push away. I must push away from this idea of fatherhood, a parental figure living up to their expectations by choosing to see the good in me. I must cease my daily release of hidden desire that boils within. It creates an uneasy tension in my life causing me to act out in an attempt of reparation. I have not settled this grief within. A grief that causes me to push for attention in provocative ways, a grief that causes me to seek out substance to ignore my wound. A battle scar of life that has never received the proper attention it deserves. I have used a bandage where sutures were needed. An open wound that feeds off my sexual desire, my inner rage, the never-ending desire for companionship that causes me to search all corners of this town for a suitable mate because I am unable to be content with the idea of singlehood. I must break the walls which do not allow my passage. I must overcome the reality that my father may never be what I want him to be, what I needed him to be. I must confess my own resolve to find contentment in a life that lacks fatherly acceptance. I will use my circumstance, my knowledge, my aspirations as a means to become the person I have promised myself I will be. Whatever it may be, however, it may be so, let it be done.

Let It Be Over

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