(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Please check out Word Forty: Rated to see the first portion of this story.)
I closed my eyes and wept. I couldn’t believe the woman I’d become, who I’d let myself turn into. The guilt ate at my soul.
My life crumbled before me, like the very glass that lay a few feet before me, mocking me.
“One sip,” I’d told myself. “I won’t let it control me.”
Five beers, three shots, and some mixed drinks later, I had drowned the voice of reason in my addiction. Anything learned from six months in rehab went out the window.
Family, friends, and even God himself abandoned me that night.
And I let it happen.
(AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a continuation of Word Twenty-Eight: Sorrow, Word Nineteen: Gray, and Word Sixteen: Questioning. Please read those three stories to understand more of what’s going on here…)
The pain of this loss wrenches my heart.
So much so, that here I am, still contemplating life and it’s worth.
Pills still in hand, as tears skirt down my cheeks.
I miss my big brother, so full of life and love. I miss his protective nature, how he would always make sure I was taken care of, how he would push me on the swings, how he helped me to ride a bicycle by myself.
Eight years later, I find I can barely function or pull through each day with a smile on my face.
They think I’m happy, that I’ve handled this well.
Inside, I’m numb.
Standing as tall as she possibly could, petite Caroline leaned on her cane. She soaked in her surroundings. Bright stage lights shone on the stage before her; her high school’s principal stood centerstage. Classmates and family surrounded.
Eight months ago, she relied on a respirator.
Six months ago she was wheelchair-bound.
Four weeks ago, she depended on a walker.
In moments, she would be giving her valedictorian speech, and then receiving her high school diploma.
Those moments passed, and so came the time for her speech.
“Without God, my family, and some amazing doctors, I would not be here today…”
Lights, bright neon lights. They flickered. I blinked. Dust attacked my dried-out eyeballs.
Where am I?
I turned my head, and realized I was lying on the wooden floor, the splintered, and creaky floor, beside the bar counter. Broken glass seemed to mock me somehow as it glistened in the neon lights.
So you thought you knew what it would be like?
It laughed at me, I could swear it.
You thought you could handle it.
Again, a sheer, sickening laugh.
You hadn’t a clue!!
I turned away from the glass as tears rolled down my cheeks.
(AUTHOR’S NOTE: Please check out Word Forty-Three: Dying for the rest of the story.)