Well Water

I trust nobody.      
It's a sad reality of PTSD      
To never get answers for a life changing event, that shook the very core of my being.      
     
And when you believe in God you can't just fill the void like you want to.      
Last night a friend brought a quart of apple pie moonshine, which is ironic because I was just talking about that yesterday...how I may have drank like a fish in the past, but I've never tried moonshine.      
     
I wasn't addicted to alcohol because I needed it chemically, I was addicted to the escape it provided.    
I could let go and not dwell on broken, I didn't have to fear the unknown again.    
     
I could dance and laugh, and feel carefree, even if it was just for a night.    
Then on Sunday morning, id get up, dress for church and sit myself in the hypocritical section.      
All the while a little voice in my head screaming at me that salt and fresh water cannot come from the same spout.      
I knew I could no longer drink both.    
     
Now, here I am, left to cope with broken only by faith.      
And I don't mean to sound disappointed in that, because I'm a true believer that faith is the only answer, but last night when my friend unscrewed that mason jar lid and stuck it to my nose, it wasn't the alcohol that made me crave indulging, it was the door that was also opened, that would've allowed me to go to a place where I didn't have to worry, to war, to choose right things.      
But, Paul said it best, "I die daily," and the thought of not dying to me today, I was craving.    
But I'd rather die to myself than die in sin.      
Every day is mercy.    
Every day is beautiful, even in the midst of wars and heartache, because I'm sure hell on its best day is worse.