Most stories are made to help mark down the great times in someone’s life. Even when the story is a tragedy it’s a great thing in their life because it shows that they got past it. This isn’t one of those stories. I am not beyond the problem or doing some magnificent work. This isn’t speaking on the trials I faced or the abyss I was pulled from. All in all this isn’t really a story. It’s more of a public journal entry. This isn’t my past or my future. It’s what I am dealing with still to this day.
I didn’t turn to the bottle or drugs to get me away from my problems. I turned to women. Maybe women are my problem? So turning to them would seem like facing it but I don’t think hookups are going to fix it. You know what. I get to share exactly what I want. I get to be the unreliable narrator for this… narrative. I am a dashing man… I have windswept raven black hair and green eyes that will remind you of the hills of Ireland. I am writing this to turn an experience I had into something more. I will do magic! I will turn my night of escapism into a story of escapism. So look towards this flourish so I can hide the card you picked to be pulled later.