I tried to drink it away.

I tried to drink it away.

I can’t stop thinking about that line.

It’s a haunting reminder of a past and the person that goes with it. Who I am, who I was, and everything in between. But the way the words linger, I can’t stop hearing over and over.

If I could drink it away, I would. Every last drop. Every thing to keep this memory from forming a nostalgic image in my romanticized past. Everything through rose colored glasses. Everything blurry, messy, vile and perfect.

All I have are memories. The late nights in crowded rooms. The cigarettes I’ve smoked. The countless men I have kissed, just to wish it away. The countless times I tried to drink it away. Nothing worked. Even sitting here going over lines in my head, I can’t keep it away.

I rub my hands together in nervous energy. Running the fingers down the palms of my hands. Thinking of a million things. People I have longed to forget. Everything just keeps coming back. If I say everything out loud it just puts words into the atmosphere. It makes the names disappear but the faces remain. When all I want is to do it take this pain away.

I drink to forget. I drink to let go. I hold the bottle close and wish this away. Years will pass eventually and the nostalgia of you will disappear. Until then, I continue to drink these feelings away. Putting out words in the atmosphere until you disappear completely.

I am going to let you go.
One drink at a time.


San Francisco, CA
January 21, 2009








He was easy to talk too. Someone, I could come home too. Come home from a long day and talk about everything. He carried a charm about him, that I found myself enamored by things he would say. Every minute became easier to be around him.

Could he really be this charming? Or is it all the drinks I am consuming?

I didn’t love him. Maybe, if anything, I had tiny feelings for him. At this point, who don’t I have feelings for. I would have feelings for a lamp post, because it gave me light. But thats just who I am. I love people only to disappoint them in the end. If anything he just made me feel safe. Like I could be honest about everything without judgement. Some part of him would be familiar, as if I had felt these sentiments before. I just couldn’t pinpoint where.

“Stop looking at your phone. Everything you need is right here”

He didn’t mean it condescendingly. Some parts of it is a corny drunken slur. And yet, I believed him.

I don’t want to go home. As dark as it was at the Bar, I could have stayed here for hours. Maybe I did, I can’t remember. I found myself drinking this ache in my chest away. With every sip, I will cut you out of my heart.

Maybe not tonight.
Tonight, let’s just think of something else. Anything else.

With every sip of his beer, his words would slur into something more meaningful then the next.

I didn’t buy it at the time. At the time, I couldn’t think of anyone else but someone else. Someone I should have left in the dust of my memories. Someone I should never have brought with me in my new life here. The same person that made me check my phone dozens of times, instead of realizing “everything you need is right here”.

“That’s not what you’re looking for”
“What am I looking for then?”

I could have kissed him right there. In my drunken haze, in this dimly lit bar. I could have.

But I didn’t.

No amount of drinks will rid the person that hurt you out of your heart. No matter how many boys you kiss, its not going to take the taste of his lips away. No matter how many times I cut myself, its never going to get him out from under my skin.

I feel stupid drowning out my sadness with someone else, thinking about someone else.

Everything I need is right here.

And I know better now.

Burbank, CA 2009


Sorry for the things I said when I was drunk.

I don’t know why I say the things I do. Or if I mean them to begin with. The little green monster comes out to throw everything upside down. Throw salt on all the wounds, to feel bitterness through the sweet. Sometimes I just want to say sorry for the words that slur out wrong. The words that come out in anger instead of love. I wouldn’t be so bold if it wasn’t for things beyond my control. Wouldn’t be so bold if it wasn’t for every last sip of this never ending cup. Its the liquid courage that makes me so courageous. The magic feather of bravery inside every bottle, can, or glass.

How much of what I say is really how I feel inside. How much of what I think is based off of ignorant bliss, hidden inside every tall can or glass. I cannot be this crazy. I cannot be this truly hurt. I cannot be so brave in my skin when I am frightened by my actions. If I mean what I say, what does it mean when I’ve had a helping hand at this.

I don’t mean everything I say, do I?
Not every word of it.
Maybe I do.

I can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by my actions. A simple drink can turn to three or four, and you find yourself telling secrets to people you shouldn’t. Sometimes I don’t want to keep so many secrets. Sometimes I just want to write them all down for everyone to see. I want to say “I miss you” when I can’t bring myself that sense of honesty. With this drink I feel a powerless power. A sense of normalcy amongst all the crazy conservative feelings. I could do anything, say anything, and yet, I find myself wishing that I hadn’t. I don’t like the way my drink tastes so bitter with my own sour thoughts. Yet, I polish off this drink and beg for more just like it.

You don’t realize how much you drink until you stop.  You don’t realize what you’ve said until the flashbacks come back to haunt you. Nostalgia has a funny way of coming back to remind you of things you’ve long forgotten. In a familiar song, in a familiar scent, in a familiar drink, as you watch yourself continue to drink to forget. But I never forget. Everything always comes back, right after I said it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I watch my demeanor change from bad to worse. Watching how my speech changes and watch how easier the words go from my tongue to my lips. Its my actions I want to reconsider, its my words I want to forget. Its everything I’ve said that I can’t help but apologize for. We all want to be accountable for our actions. We all wish we could take back all the nasty things we’ve said.

Maybe I truly am sorry for all the things I have said when I was drunk. In the end what I have said will finally set me free. Allow me to be less bitter, allow me to be less hateful, allow me to stop being such a fucking bitch. Liquor doesn’t make monsters, it just helps the monsters be more vicious. I am tired of being a monster. I dedicate this last drink to you. This last moment, this last taste, everything. I am sorry if I have ever hurt you. I am sorry if I said any nasty things about you. Above all, I am sorry if I was never sorry to begin with.

I am sorry. I truly am.



8/16/2015 – Day Eight.


I was once told that you should never drink alone. Drinking alone means you’re an alcoholic, something around those lines. Its not that I crave the drink. It’s not that I need the drink, its that I always need something to take the edge off. I realize the older I get I don’t care for drinking. I don’t care about being belligerent that I have to black out my thoughts. I am not trying to run away from anything but every once in a while it’s nice to escape. Feel fuzzy and feel better.

I have drank with thousands of people. Friends, foes, strangers, and family, you name it. Never alone. I wonder if its the fear of losing control that doesn’t allow me to drink alone. The fear of losing myself and allowing the gates of my mind, to flood open with nostalgia and reoccurring memories. Today I found myself alone for no reason at all. When you come from a large family, you seldom have a moment to yourself, let alone be alone. But today I found myself alone and nursing a glass of my favorite beer. It wasn’t meant to happen. Seeing beer poured into glasses and watching as one by one everyone started scattering out into the streets, or on the patio or to other areas of the house. I sat with my glass and for the first time contemplated to drink.

To drink alone is a sad definition of loneliness. While I didn’t feel alone, watching people scatter slowly to other places, I found myself alone without anyone. No one to tell a funny story. No one to say how I feel. No way to truly express myself. My fingers gripped the glass and slowly bringing the glass towards me. I waited. I waited because it’s what I always do, wait for answers. Wait for questions, wait for people to scatter back in and out of my life. I have spent a lifetime of waiting and realized that people will always scatter back in and later back out of my life, whats the point of waiting anyway? It doesn’t make much sense to wait.

I sit and wait and every moment passes me by. The condensation from the glass keeps my finger prints intact. The longer I wait the realization comes in. I can’t do this alone. Sitting here and waiting for people to scatter back in, the longer I continue to wait for them. It’s what I do best. Wait for the right time, wait for the right moment, wait for the right people to scatter out then back into my life. But the waiting makes me more anxious. The more anxious I become, the more likely I am to take the edge off. I was never a person to believe in “can’t” but lately I have been finding myself doing so. The closer the glass comes toward me, the more likely I am to drink. I can’t keep waiting anymore.


We are young.

We are young.


Young in the nights that we wish would last forever. With the strangers that carry our broken hearts, we hopelessly wear on our sleeves. We cheers to the dark nights and the magic it invokes in us. We wait for the nights to become who we really are and show our true faces to strangers. The close confides of these quarters and the drinks that never stop until we say when.

I would drink the oceans dry if it meant that a moment like this would last forever. That the bullshit emotions of the day would wash away with every drink. Here’s to the nights that felt as if life was being lived and our decaying corpses were alive. Where strangers become friends and the music never stops. Every song you couldn’t bring yourself to like becomes your favorite. The more you slur your words, the more the words of the song come alive. Word for word, line for line, and drink after drink. I feel alive. I am not who I was in the day, because it’s who I am at night that’s alive.


Time has stopped in spinning the wheel of regret and worry. Here equipped with the liquid courage we need to break free from the realities of our daily lies. I feel nothing yet feel everything in between. For the first time it felt okay to be where I am. Everything for the first time felt okay. That my mistakes lead me to where I need to be. With the people that remind me of home and the nights that would last forever. I may not know where the future leads me, but at this moment we are beautiful and young.

You learn a lot about yourself right around last call. You learn a lot about your friends right around 2 am. I wish I had a photograph for every one of those nights that I felt alive. For every night I toasted to youth, the future, and every new beginning. It didn’t matter how much you fucked up, because a drink of a liquid apology would take it all away. But after night fall comes the sobering morning. Every sobering morning comes with a moment to fall apart. I don’t feel so young anymore. Once again I am reminded that I am not going anywhere. Where am I going, where do I belong, why am I surrounded by the broken, the battered and the bruised? All we want is for someone to carry us home. Wash away the night and sleep away the days of regret and mistakes.


We are not young. No matter how many drinks we drink, we will never drink away our sorrow. How foolish to believe otherwise. But for a brief moment, we felt alive. We felt young and for a moment we were all equal in our misfortunes and mistakes. Here’s to another night of waking up and hoping for the best. Another night of drinking our problems away and finding someone to carry us home.

Just carry me home tonight


Leaving Las Vegas.

Everyone always talks about leaving Las Vegas. Seldom to we hear about staying. Now leaving your pride, your sins, and your severe case of deception. If I could erase the sins of Las Vegas, I would. But the countless streams of alcohol have beat me to the punch.

Viva Las Vegas.


It’s amazing how much you can pretend in Vegas. Pretend to be anything and anyone you want. No one will ever question it. I have never really cared for Vegas. An over grown gluttonous city masked with the lights and misconceptions of a good time. I don’t gamble. All I do is drink, and spend endless amounts of money on a frenzy of being and feeling important. Vegas is where the lost boys and girls go to be a young again. A place to forget everything until our flight leaves the next morning. I couldn’t help myself but see through the cracks of this city. The sorrow masked with opportunities of a good time. What brews beneath the surface of the glitter and the after glow?

Why did I ever give you a chance Vegas? Why did I ever believe you were good for me?


I thought if i distanced myself from you, it would all be okay. That I would forget the neon lights and clouds of smoke from the strip. The nice suited men that buy you countless drinks. Forget everything. The countless attempts of self control masked with my own ways of self improvement. But I can’t. Something inside of me just wants to let go and have fun with the rest of them. Throw caution to the wind and join the rest of them. I am lost, so lets get lost together. Pretend nothing happened and then wake up and start all over again. Wash away our sins of Sin City and dress my mask up to make myself decent for you. It’s always you, i truly want to impress. Not the people, not myself, its the city that breeds this need to be someone else. Am I perfect for you now Vegas? Will you love me tonight?


Mornings are always the hardest. That moment between the dream and the reality. Waking up and cleaning up the after effects of the night. God, you looked so beautiful in the night. With your lights shining, beautiful brightly. I can’t help but stand on the strip and take a look at you. Through the grime and the deceit. As the sun shines through the dusty drapes, I can’t help but want to return to the night. Fast forward the morning, the afternoon and return to the night. The night leads to the excess consumption of bad ideas. But damn, you looked so beautiful underneath all the lights. Making me believe that’s who you really are. When I think I see you, all you do is lie to me. Then the mornings return and I can’t help but want to leave this god forsaken city.

I leave you, Vegas. I am leaving you. All you do is take everything you want from me and leave me more lost than before. I can’t take theses mornings, when you leave me hungry for more. I can’t take the drinks that never seem enough to shelter my decisions from my insecurities. I can’t. I am leaving you and everything you stand for, and I’m not ever coming back.

At least not this time.

Miami, Miami.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

First time I believed in Miami, is the first time I believed in the sun. The warmth and comfort of a hug from the light and heat of the big bright yellow sun. It had been years since I paid attention to the sun. Since the rains and storms stopped and something inside of me craved the harsh reality of sunny days and sunshine. I hated the sun. Forcing myself to conceal my skin behind layers of clothing and retreating inside while people came alive in the sun. The sun and the sunshine weren’t for me. Any trace of the sun left me long ago and left me with the pale remembrance of spring through summer. But Miami opened itself to me in a warm familiar hug. It embraced my flaws and comforted me after the storm of my life and reassured me that it would be okay. Will it ever be okay?

Whoever I was then, I can’t ever be again.


Forgiving, forgetting, and the art of leaving. Beneath the palm trees and the big bright yellow sun. Mesmerized by the whites of the sand and the big blue sea, I could get lost here forever. Drink after drink, night after night, lost. It was the art of letting go and leaving that catapulted the journey to the sandy white beaches of South Beach. It was the art of forgiving that brought me to the streets of Miami. But forgetting, where do I forget? Where do I lose sight of the realities amongst the sun drenched streets and picture perfect perfection? Perhaps, another drink. Another drink to forget and be swallowed whole by the sun and lost in the shade under the palm trees. This was my forgiving, this was my forgetting and this was my leaving.


I didn’t think about you and I didn’t think about me. I didn’t think about much of anything. Dancing the night away under the stars and hearing the roaring sounds of the ocean hitting the sands. I could have kissed a hundred boys under the street lights of that city. I could have. Maybe I did, honestly I can’t remember. All I know is when the morning sun woke, I was clean. You forget who you are when you’re in the sun. You forget that your past is left in the dark to it’s own demise. At least that’s what I thought. The light and the warmth of the sun, the sands of the beaches and their beautiful swaying palm trees, why would anyone want to remember the past? I can still feel it. I can still hear it. I can still see it. Everything. The light, the sounds, and this notion that I found this escape from reality if only for a short time.


There was no one else. Nothing that made me crave the sun as much as I felt it in Miami. No place better to forget then running away the picture perfect sights of South Beach. The street lights bright as the sun and the sun warmer than I could remember. I just need that escape. That one last time to forget it all. That one last drink to solve all my problems. All of it. Every single damn one of it.

Miami, Please take me back.

The comfort in there’s no one else.