An Experience Like No Other

I am bound and gagged by a cold sweat at about four in the morning. The wind rustles through the trees outside. The sweat seems to have soaked my tee shirt. I feel anguish as I wipe the sweat from my forehead and get out of bed. Despite the cold sweat, my throat needs to be quenched with some hydrogen 2 oxygen. A glass of it would be appropriate in this instance, I suppose. I am struggling with a battle. A battle of an addiction that needs to be broken. I cry out for help but no one hears me. No one takes pity on this broken vessel, this depressed person, who has an issue that is eating away at him from the inside out. I can feel my heart beating rapidly and viciously. The water is not calming my nerves like I thought it would, but I continue to grasp each sip. My mouth is still parched, that's funny, water is supposed to satisfy the dryness of the throat. I wrap myself up in a quilt that was handmade by my grandmother and continue to ponder over why no one sees that this addiction is killing me. You would of thought I would have gotten the message by now with the nights I spent over the Eljer toilet and the numerous sinks that now have remnants of the vomit smell. No Lysol or Oust can alleviate the scent of the smell that lingers in some of those sinks. I enjoyed the occasional gulps of Kahlua and the downing of rum. They were my friends. I do not know how I got entangled with the cycle of thinking that liquor could solve my problems; that I could drown my issues and problems in a bottle of Jose Cuervo. I have to live with the pain of the addiction that has not worn off. I seem to be exercising in circles because I do this cold sweat thing almost every night now that I have stopped feeding the craving. But I did not stop at my own free will. It took me burying my friend to finally see how horrific drinking can be. A crushed car with blood oozing out of it is not a pretty sight. When I saw my friend being pried out of the car with the jaws of life, there were no tears. Pure shock had me at a standstill. I was speechless as I saw the blood literally dripping off of his neck. But I will spare you the details of that event. Chills and goosebumps slide down my arms and legs as I wrap myself up further in the quilt. The remote next to my bed is sitting on the nightstand. I find some relief in watching an old episode of Duck Tales. I am reminded of my childhood when I used to sit in the living room and drink apple cider and play Monopoly with my cousins, while watching that unforgettable cartoon. Apple cider is sweet and charming like the exotic fruit juices of the Alize that I use to gargle with before bedtime. I can still feel the remains of a half drunk bottle simmering and marinating in my liver and kidneys. I turn the television off and reminisce over the decision I made when I first took a nip of a Fuzzy Navel. People couldn't wait to entice me with more and more and more. They would respond to my calls for another shot. Isn't it funny how I am crying out now but no one hears me?

An excerpt from something I am working on.....

Life has many parts, can you hear them?