FatDepressedAlcoholic

My Before Picture

My eyes were two dead clowns found floating in a still lake.

The skin of my face was pale and half-cooked pastry, a “Bourbon puff” as it’s called.

My belt was invisible. My pants did not fall, so the assumption could be made that I did, in fact, own a belt. A slab of lard hung down an inch past the bottom of the beltbuckle.

That picture could have been taken at many times during my life. It would show a guy courting death in an on-again-off-again relationship. I was addicted. Fat. Depressed.

Was that “Before?” I guess that depends on making up an arbitrary timeline. Before what? A “Before” picture of a human being might show two teenagers behind steamed-up windows in an old Chevy. The “After” would be a gravestone.

We are all in process, inhaling and exhaling and repeating. We choose more life or more death, and if we are honest about it we know the whole thing is a cycle.

Will we die? Yes.

Will we live? Yes.

How much?

When?

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