I hate this feeling. Some deep, overwhelmingly physical sensation, contorts my gut violently. But it’s not physical. It’s pride, humiliation, justification, disrespect, and all the things that I shouldn’t have to fight, yet it drags me down yet again. The urge to escape this feeling can’t be quenched by escapism. No matter how good whatever I’m doing might be, as soon as it’s over, I’m back to thinking about this. Can’t drink my way out.