FicWad

I lay on my crappy bed in my crappy basement bedroom, with empty beer cans littered on the ground around me, a half full one resting on the floor next to me. I picked it up and took another long swig, feeling the fluid slide roughly down my throat. The taste of stale, cheap alcohol splashed onto my already drenched taste buds. I gazed at the ceiling drunkenly, my vision growing cloudy as I allowed myself to slip into my hazy thoughts.

It seemed as though I was spending more and more time like this, living in a drunken stupor, every moment of soberness I had to bear feeling like an all too real eternity. I simply couldn’t face the world without the clouds of intoxication in front of my eyes. Nothing else could take away the pain of day-to-day living, not even drawing or music, which had at one time been my drugs of choice. This bottled fire just soothed my burning mind so much better.

Maybe it wasn't healthy, my dependence on this amber liquid, but at that point in time I simply didn't give a shit. Any kind of reprieve from the depression and self-loathing that continually haunted my life was welcome, even if the weight of my world only returned tenfold when I woke up the next day, covered in my own vomit and a pounding in my head. And sure, my family pleaded with me to get help - I almost lost it when Mikey started begging - but I just couldn't stop, not for them, not for me, not for anyone.

I just couldn't find it in me to care about anything anymore. The drinking at least made me unaware of my numbness, at least made me forget that I was beyond love and anger and care and any other kind of emotion besides deep, wallowing sadness. And so this is where I wound up: a pile of fake IDs in my drawer, a case of death in my mini fridge, a mourning family, and a stomach churning from too much of a bad thing.