Abandoned It Out West

Alcohol doesn't unwind you. It facilitates an artificial belief that things are other than as they are. That there is not, for example, a noose I can only watch nearing me circularly, all around (aimed at my wrists, not my neck). If drinking were an ethical -- even a real -- cure for awareness, I would be drunk every day just after noon, not because it's socially appropriate but because that's when class ends.
Ryan called today. He's one of the few people who makes me smile involuntarily when I see them or hear their voices. Instead, though, I got an instant bellyache: Shall I bring someone up to date on what feels like a total obliteration of everything I thought was crucial? Or shall I grin and lie and say "Yes, I'm very happy and unambiguously fulfilled in graduate school! I was totally wrong and silly when I spent two years acting as though my relationship were important to me!" Ryan called and I didn't smile. I made up an excuse to get off the phone, because I can't lie to him and I'm so ashamed of the truth. I can't leave, and I'm terrified of what will happen if I stay.
No matter what I do, it will represent a failure. If drinking erased that, people wouldn't keep on knocking back day after day, trying to unwind themselves all the way to their bare-bone spools.