Aftermath

Chapter Two

2

For a long while I have struggled with my inner demons. I sometimes thought I was crazy, I have often thought of many ways to vanish from this world I live in. I didn’t give a s**t any more; I didn’t care if I drank myself to death.

Drink after drink, my world changes. Drink after drink she would make her presence known, soon she would to come by to visit me. I long for the beauty of her presence. She rides a black horse, that angel of fire. Her eyes are a burning red colour, her hair orange, yellow and on fire. She often comes when I’m feeling delirious, who is she? Then I wake up, only this time, I find myself at a homeless shelter. The stench makes me want to gag as the urine lingers in the air.

I quickly race off to the rest room, I get sick, and I wash my face. I stare at myself in the mirror, beads of water roll down my face. What the f**k am I doing here? I think to myself. I pat my face dry with a paper towel. I leave this place, I look for my car outside and there are cars lined up the block. I walk down the street a bit before I pull out my keys, I push my alarm, and it beeps from behind me, half a block down.

I sat in my car for a while, thinking, wondering how I got here. Normally, one would stop at this point, it would snap them out of it, wake them up. For me, I didn’t give a s**t. I just started my car and drove to the closest ATM, pull out some cash, I’d get a room at a cheap hotel, but I never stayed there. I would only shower and get ready for my nightlife, head out to the bar, have me another drink.

Like I said before, I’m an alcoholic.

            My hands would shake, my body craving it. Panic would set in; it would feel like I’m about to swallow my own tongue. My body would tremble, and I would calm myself down before I head out to the hotel lounge. I’d order two beers, go sit by the slots, and chug the first one like water, then the next one, order two more and drink them fast to calm my nerves. Once I felt fine, I’d leave and go find another bar. Drinking and driving, what a fool I was. The f*****g beer meant more to me than anyone else, what a loner I was, I probably still am.

I’ve been called pathetic and a loser all my life, maybe they’re right. Maybe I am a loser, pathetic; maybe that’s why the old man left. And when I think of it, I’ve been called a lousy father too, a no good dad… but tell me, how the f**k am I suppose to be a dad? How the f**k am I to show, or be a father, when I never had one myself, I don’t know how to be one.

Yeah, here’s to you dad! And I chug that b*****d, and order another one.

Maybe the doc is right; maybe I am hiding something. I try writing out my feelings, yet here I am drinking while I do it. Is there any retribution for me? My life seems to be falling apart, I sometimes am afraid to stay home. My big empty house, it drives me crazy. Ghost figures of my kids come into view, and the memories of those times invade my space. I use to get mad at them and leave me alone, so I can work on my books. Now, now I miss them dearly. I lost out on the custody battle, no visitation, no nothing…

I need another drink…

I can’t write any more, I no longer can think of anything. I guess after losing my kids, my life I once had, I lost the love to write.

I’d rather drink anyway, life no longer means jack s**t to me. It would be later that evening, while drinking up a storm, and yet I feel nothing. I am sober, I drink and drink, and nothing happens. I shake my head, and leave the scene. I buy some beer at the vendor, and start my voyage home to the country; the city life seems not to want to me anymore. If I can’t get drunk here, why bother staying; I have over stayed my welcome.

Many thoughts race across my mind, I wonder if I am going to get better, would I beat this illness I have. Worse case scenario, I’d be drunk at home, where I don’t want to be, maybe it’s because her scent still lingers, maybe it’s because my kids ghosts walk about in there, or maybe it’s because… I don’t want to be alone.

I get home around ten-thirty that night; I pull out the beers from the trunk. I crack open the first one and chug it, how much it soothes me, how much it makes me feel good, those thoughts are erased once I’m home, those thoughts that haunt me. My dark clouds I evade, the storm rages inside me. I have anger suddenly, my stomach twists, and I don’t know why. I fight those thoughts that now come in waves, it has me in tears.

“Why have you forsaken me?” I shout out, and toss my empty bottle towards the dock.

The aftermath of my life now lay in ruins. My empire, destroyed by her, my way of thinking, I’m beginning to think I’m losing it.

I am driven to the edge…

My hands now tremble in my confusion of pain. I turn and reach for another beer, my only friend. I see my journal laying about, I close my eyes and think of my past life, the one where I loved writing, all my work, now pushed aside. I pick my pen, open the pad, I stare at it for some time, lost in my thoughts, dreams that once were, now bobbed on the horizon of my raging sea within. A sign maybe, a glimmer of hope maybe…

As long as I see it, I know it's there.

Reviews

[Lily Mae]

I'm so glad you picked up the pen and pad of paper..:)

[Norma M Sutton]

Choices. Writing helps get the anguish out. Know that from experience. Good chapter.

[Wicahpi]

i hear this stuff almost every day ... saying this is very realistic.
tortured ... yet driven to keep the destruction close at hand.
I'd say well done...with one suggestion; make 'after math' one word
'aftermath' .. on to the next ..