Sometimes I feel like my life is a dream, punctuated by brief moments of clarity. I cannot remember the last time my system was free of alcohol, but it's not a big deal, I'm not an alcoholic. I've done so many things lately that would make my former self cringe, but I don't cringe. I don't even flinch. It's all a dream sequence, a consequence-free realm of another reality; not my reality. I go through all the motions of day-to-day life, I talk to people but the words are all meaningless, senseless, like the white noise of a broken TV. I feel like I'm not even uttering these words, they are just there, plucked haphazardly from the invisible fabric of space. These words aren't me. I'm not me.

When I was younger and something bad would happen to me, I'd always tell myself that it's only temporary. All the feelings and emotions are temporary and will eventually ebb away like the tides. But tides are cyclical and return, and when they do they carry with them a new assortment of things. New strands of wayward seaweed, new fragments of once vibrant coral, new beer bottles and grocery bags. Maybe that's how feelings are; they disappear for a short while only to return with new bags of goodies.