Divorce, Drugs, and Instant Emotion

Emotions have become injectable. Syringes are available from pharmacies

Marriage is incredibly difficult and anyone who tells you otherwise, has never seen two humans fight so hard to make it work. I believe my parents love each other. I truly want to believe that their lives would be unbearable if they split but who knows. What I believe and what is reality is two different things.

"God d****t Martha, will you just get off my back", my father screams across the kitchen table at my mother while she cleans up. "You act like THIS is fun for me. You act like I enjoy being a 40 year old man out of work. I try, every damn day, to find a job and yet, somehow, you still manage to make me feel like s**t about it all"

My mom fires back, slamming the dishes in the dishwasher like they are the root of all that is wrong with this marriage. I sit and watch quietly at the kitchen, pretending like I am not listening, per the usual routine.

"Oh, you try? What do you mean by try, Ricky? Does trying mean making one phone call per week in your job search? Does trying mean you wake up and watch TV until the afternoon and then pretend to write your piss poor novel in evening? Because if that is trying, then I don't want to even know what not trying looks like"

Her voice is filled with so much hate and resentment, it is like she absolutely despises him. She acts like she has no more love left for him.

"I am leaving", my dad stands up abruptly, his tone emotionless, uttering the words in defeat as he walks out of the kitchen.

"Yeah, just go ahead and run away. That is what you do best anyway", she yells louder, dead set on having her insult reach my retreating father before he leaves the house.

The door slams hard, the car engine turns on and he is gone. She leaves the kitchen and heads upstairs to their room. The food still decorates the kitchen table, still steaming from when it was put out. All that is left is me eating food in a hate filled room.

The less emotional they get in their fights, the more emotional I become. My dad hardly fought this time and my mother did not shed a single tear. I use to watch them get into passionate arguments, sometimes they were downright horrible to each other but tears would flow and hugs would always follow. Those days are far removed and they are not coming back.

I start to feel overwhelmed with emotion when I realize that they are not going to last. We will no longer be a family... just a fractured unit trying to survive the damage of a broken home. Tears fill my eyes as I escape away to the basement.

I walk fast, emotion flowing with each step. I immediately head to the storage room in our basement to escape it all. I leave the lights off as I navigate my way to my grandma's old and battered oak chest in the far corner. I open up the creaky chest, the hinges nearly completely rusted, and grab the plastic box.

There is duct tape that runs across the top and it has permanent marker written on it. It is labeled Joy. I open the box, my hands trembling with anger, as I grab the syringe filled with the luminescent golden liquid.

I inject it into a large vein that runs through the base of my forearm and my bicep.

My lips hinge upwards into a smile, a euphoric feeling of pure joy sails through my veins, quickly masking all the pain.

I sit alone, cross legged in the dark, staring off into the distance, thinking deeply about my parents.

I believe they will make it. I truly do.