This is not the “Depression Olympics:”

BookerTeaBourbon10 Explained

Good Advice!

As of late, I read something on medium that was really disturbing. To be quite frank, it could have been a disturbing coincidence, but the comment the person made was disturbia. You know, dum dum di dum dum dum di dum dum. Anyways, I wrote a short story that talked about my Angel/Demon BookerTeaBourbon10, a fiction story might I add. The feelings however, in this story were drawn from the complexities inside me. Sort of like the angel on one shoulder, and the devil on the other kind of thing. You know what I am talking about, it’s quite the cliché. However, my problems are not that simple, so I combined this concept, due to the fact that I have had this demon (who I have named: BookerTeaBourbon10) for such a long time I have grown to love him. That may seem kind of weird, but the funny thing about this is, this demon has been with me since the age of five. Not to say that I was drinking since the age of five, for he has been there through all my vices. Always there, like a family member, so I have grown to love him.

Why?

Well, throughout my 21 years in FosterCare, through all the trauma I had to go through, he was there…always keep me company. Craziness, I know. Don’t judge me. I am not even sure if he is a fabrication from my mind. For, the first time I met BookerTeaBourbon10 was in a nightmare I was having. I must have been about five at the time. It was one of those dreams where you couldn’t move, where you couldn’t talk, and the only thing that echoed through this night terror was his laughter. This same dream had occurred a few nights prior from this story I am about to tell you, and well, he succeeded in making me wet the bed. Again! Bastard! But — he was my potty trainer.

The day I stood up to Booker.

So, the same dream occurred again. I couldn’t move, nor could I talk. Bookers heckling echoed through my mind. I struggled, I fought, I just wanted to talk, and the words refused to pass through my lips. He held me back, it was as if in the dream realm he ruled. Similar to Freddy Krueger, just not with all the crazy kill you in your dreams kind of stuff. Bookers Motis Operandi was different, it was more so to control. He held, and held, and held. And then I whispered

“Shut the fuck up.”

Those were my physical whispers. While I dreamt my lips moved. Those were my exact words, and then I woke up. The echoes of his laughter persisted in my mind, fading into the back of my thoughts, only to replaced by my astonishment. I couldn’t believe it. I actually talked in my dream. It was an amazing feeling. Like standing up to a bully that always picks on you. It was like geez, there was a time I couldn’t move in my sleep, and now I was over here cursing at Booker.

A gained respect

After which, Booker respected me. He warned me about things, while also allowing me to make my mistakes. I realized that he wasn’t that bad, and all he wanted was a bit of a hug sometimes. When I forget about him he would pay me a visit me in my dreams, and he still hugs me ’til the point I can’t move. That’s okay though, when he gets too carried away, I know how to stop him. These days, I can even move in my dreams when he tries to hold me down. Which usually transcends to me waking up in movement. Nothing too crazy. Just the movement of my head or arm. Something like that.

My Point

Life is short, and too be honest,

This is not the depression Olympics.

I have my demons (slash angels), and you have yours. Mine just has a name, some personality, we happened to become friends, and then I noticed during the low points of my life he could be quite helpful. It’s just been in limbo for so long, it just corrupted his mind. He is kind of crazy, but has a good heart. Then again, the saying goes, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions” I understand that BookerTeabourbon10 sounds like Lucifer, but he is not. All he is, is the embodiment of all my problems, the entity willing to tell my stories, especially when I can’t. And most importantly, he is made up. I think.

Honestly! If someone thinks I need an exorcism, please recommend a priest. Thank you!

P.S.

I just want to give a special thanks to Earl of Nutella Sandwich Veronica Kelton Lindsey P. Robin Lyon H. Derrick Harris Archeduke de Roc GOLDEN INK. Aaron Howell ChaosIntended for reading this crap and following me.

Especially to the Earl and Veronica, my two most interactive followers. You both inspire to want to write more about my life. Thanks