The Glass Bottle

I am looking for my next fix.

I can taste it. The liquid gold pouring down my throat. Running through my veins. Filling my stomach until it can't be filled anymore. Through my pores it will sweat and I will repeat the cycle all over again.

I need it. I want it. I have to have it. I won't deny it. I can't deny it. I refuse to not buy it. It is my vice.

Some people choose food. Other choose pills. Plants. Cigarettes. Sex.

I choose the glass bottle.

I swim in the thoughts of consuming its contents. It frees me. It deceives me. It overpowers me. It engulfs me.

I'm addicted. Hooked. I can't function without it. The buzz is my 60's hippie summer of love. The drunken stupor is my high. I float high above earth when I feel the liquid gold dance in my system. Its a feeling I can't let go. Sobriety is my enemy. Being hung over is a reminder. My reminder to call to that glass bottle. My friend. My one and only friend.

I've lost everyone else. Nobody to call my friend. No one to call my lover. All I have is myself and my glass bottle. It sits on the counter top. It stares me in the face. I can hear the particles in the liquid buzzing around. I want those particles to buzz inside of me. I can't fight the feeling. The urge is too strong. I am weak to my own vice.

I'm not ready to change. If I change, I am obligated to quit drinking. To quit calling the glass bottle my friend. The feeling is too good to let go. I don't need help. I have all the help I need.

No wonder they left me. I chose the glass bottle over my family, my closest friends, my career, and my life. How did I ever get to this point? This clear substance runs my life.

Alcoholic. That's what my wife called me. I've heard of the word. But what does that mean to me? I'm not an alcoholic. I am alright. She thinks I need help. I think she needs help. She said I needed to go to rehab. I told her she needed to go to hell. Who is she to change me? To tell me what I need to do or who I need to be? She must be insane.

And yet I sit here. At my kitchen bar. Drinking my life away. The golden miracle that I gulp down numbs it all. It numbs life. It numbs my heart.

Divorce. Numb. My limited visitation with my two little girls. Numb. My job and my career. The pink slip. Numb. Life in general. Numb.