Johnnie Walker Red

After a night of heavy drinking my sister looked at me and said I needed to seriously ease up on how often I go to the bar. F**k them.

Come home.  The government is buying your groceries. Every morning I am awakened to the ring of an unknown number, attempting to collect on a debt.  Every weekend I find an excuse to obtain money from my father to buy a watery draft.  Later in the week, after I’ve regained my appetite I laugh about vomiting through clasped hands on the stranger waiting for a grimy booth at Waffle House. What fun! Wasn’t that great? Remember when I puked my expensive bar tab on some poor bystander? I can’t stop. I’ll do it again. I want it. Now.

You’re unfair to all talk about me. I wake up the next morning, still inebriated, still stinking. I just want something to drink. Really, is that too much to ask. You scoff at every move I make. It’s because of the drink. Yes b***h, I don’t feel well, yes I drank last night. I just want to shake my mother. Has she ever had to feel what I am feeling? Of course she has, she’s watching it.

I don’t mean to disappoint my mother. I just disagree with her. She views drowning your woes in booze as a weakness, I view it as a baptism. To become right again. Eventually.

Everyday I’m one notch lower and lower. Self worth dissolving rapidly. I have a panic within that is in tune with my life’s metronome. I know this count down all too well. Tick. Tock. Drip. Drop. Ink drying on a certificate. It’s all too close, too real. 

Reviews

[Philip Muls]

Your story is five years old. I hope you have managed to stop drinking. I have managed to do just that 27 months ago after 4 rehabs. If I can do it, you can do it.

Take care.

[Marie Anzalone]

Acknowledgment sent. There's no right or wrong here. I've always thought, though, that excessive drinking was the refuge of the ones preparing each day to die. I can only imagine, though, what this is like.