Reflecting Upon the Indomitable
It’s 12:36 am on March 10th, 2019. My friends just left. I am listening to Norah Jones, and reflecting on the past year of life. It has been the best year of my life. It has been the first year of my life. In this year I have discovered I enjoy life. It was not always this way. Prior to this year, I felt as though I was waiting for life to begin. It was grey and now it is white.
Today, I lived. The day began with fellowship. Three friends came to my apartment the original plan was to enjoy the fifty-five-degree break from winter with a game of tennis, doubles. New balls were purchased for the occasion. It rained, and plans changed accordingly. My companions and I moved indoors and took up table tennis. We did so vigorously. Two cracked balls and a damaged table are proof of that. Things devolved. We moved to video games and ended our time of fellowship watching Bert Krisher’s the Machine.
I laughed a great deal today, far more than I did a year ago today. A year ago I resented laughter despite desperately seeking it out. Misery may love comedy, yet to my ears all laughter was in my face. I cried a great deal then. I am nearly crying now for I live, and I should not.
A year ago today, things were different. A year ago today, I lay in a hospital bed teetering in and out of consciousness. I don’t remember if it was a year ago yesterday or the day before, I broke my promise to self and took one drink.
It was not enough.
I took three more. Then I left, good, yet sober, company for the company of good yet less judgmental eyes. I hit the bottle. I hit the vape. I felt good. I left tincture in hand. Once alone, I drank as I wished. I was told three drops. I took three vials. I told myself just one glass. I nearly consumed one bottle - the brown stuff that burns. I felt good, but I still felt.
Therefore, bitter pills were crushed under tooth. Smooth outside. Hint of sweet. Faint taste of bitter inside. Clinical smell. Satisfying snap. Bitter powder coats the tongue. Unrequited love. Spark cigarette. Inhalation. Exhalation. Exuberation without satiation. Alcohol. Bitter pill. Inhalation; exhalation. Rinse with Alcohol, and repeat it all. Hit the wall.
On the floor heart beating. Panic attack? Call. Talk it out. Ride it out. Call twelve steppers. No answer at three in the morning. Call the girl. No answer. Twelve stepper returns a call. Slurred words, heavy breathing, panic… Girl. Call coming through. Hang up on twelve stepper. Argue at the girl. Ask for help and refuse it. Cave. Get carried away. Spend the next day - aka. year ago today - fading in and out as mother weeps and father hangs heavy head.
Today, my friends left and I went to dinner with another set. We ate well. Some drank their fill. I was not one of them for I have no fill. I accept this and no longer resent it. Therefore I am filled with joy, love, and compassion both for the men that surrounded me and, perhaps more importantly, for myself. After our meal, we returned to my apartment where we played games, swapped stories and enjoyed good company within as well as without.
The last of them left a few moments ago. They need rest. Some of them will work in the morning. I will be one of them. A year and a few hours from now - March 10th around 11 am - I poured my last drink.
I thank god for doing for me what I could not do for myself.
- April 2019
- March 2019
- Feb 13, 2019 It Happened in Iowa: Part III Feb 13, 2019
- January 2019