The Diary of Edgar Albright

A story about sobriety and the perils of relapse

April 3rd

I don’t remember when the hunger started. But when it sets, it’s like I can’t imagine ever not having had it. Something always sets it off. Hope, I think. I think hope hides inside my belly and eats up everything I look at. It spins it and twists it as I watch reality writhe in its embrace. Hope is the demon crouched inside my stomach, bloated and empty and stretching. That is how the hunger feels. Nothing is ever enough once it starts. Even describing it isn’t enough, never good enough, never pretty enough, birthing it into words has never been enough to make it concrete- to make it breakable. I can’t dress it up, I can’t dress it down- it just is.

April 7th

Today I watched a bluebird get attacked by a raven, or maybe it was a crow. It was unnatural. I thought of how hungry death must be, or more so, I remembered how delicious life can be. Something so carnal… I felt like both the bluebird and the crow. The static between them was so strong I couldn’t ignore it. I could almost taste the bloody red string of fate that had the birds entangled. The taste of iron filled my mouth just watching them, but it was electric… like batteries. Nothing ever just “happens” anymore. I’ve been sober 2 months now, and reality is grinding against my head. It’s painful and beautiful, I can see colors again but they’re blinding. I miss drowning in my liquid kingdom. And I was King then. At least, I felt like a King. Meanwhile, I was actually playing the part of the court jester. The fool. My crown was limp, my bottles clinked and jingled, my hysterical groveling danced around people’s thirsty need to feel “better than”. Although, to be honest, since I’ve stopped drinking I haven’t become any less a fool, just blisteringly aware of it. I can’t even use mouthwash anymore, lest I be tempted to chug the whole chemical. So I chain smoke. Ha. 

May 12th

I guess the crow won. Almost. I don’t think I can get away with another relapse… now I’m scared, not like I was before. The darkness is back, and I’m only a few days sober, only this time the darkness is back and it’s like my brain can’t figure out how to work. What? Am I repeating myself? Jesus. I can’t f*****g think straight anymore everything is… rushing in before I have time to even type it out. I forgot that about being sober. How much easier it was to express myself. I guess I wasn’t as afraid of my own feelings. More used to having them?

Reviews

[Montrealbeatnik]

I LOVE this ! Feels so raw and true and honest.

[Coyote Poetry]

Dear Lucia, a complete story in so few words.
"Although, to be honest, since I’ve stopped drinking I haven’t become any less a fool, just blisteringly aware of it. I can’t even use mouthwash anymore, lest I be tempted to chug the whole chemical. So I chain smoke. Ha"
I liked the honest tone of the story and the above lines. Real life and true. Thank you for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote