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Battling a bottle
He stares at the bottle. Sitting there mocking him.
“You need me” it whispers “I’m your escape.”
“Maybe I do. But what if I didn’t?” he asks.
“Don’t be foolish. You’re too weak to handle this on your own.” Again that mocking tone.
Why does he find himself fighting this same fight.
“Am I too weak?”
He let’s go of the thought as soon as it pops into his head.
“I can do this. I don’t need you.”
Positive self-talk. That’s what the guy online said.
“Rewire your brain with affirmations and positive self-talk.”
He’s been trying. Every morning. Five times out loud. Five different sayings.
“I am strong.”
“I am in control of my life.”
And then when the urges come up a reminder. “I don’t drink.”
He wants to kick the addiction. He knows it’s not good for him.
But in those moments of crushing loneliness…
When he feels abandoned by the world the bottle starts talking to him.
Reminds him of who’s been there for all these years.
Never complaining. Always willing to listen.
He realizes how sad it sounds. Calling a bottle his best friend.
But the escape it provides. Oh the escape.
When no one wants to listen, he knows who he can turn to.
It takes a few sips. But then it hits. And all the pain and all the sadness fade into the distance.
He remembers what it feels like to be happy. To experience joy.
He’s not sure when these feelings disappeared from life.
But he misses them.
There it is. The thoughts of how he could feel. If only he opened the bottle.
Wait, when did the lid end up in his hand?
Open, the bottle sits there tempting him.
Whispers “you can escape. It’s not hard to pour out a hit.”
As if under someone else’s control he finds himself in front of the cabinet. Grabbing the glass, he moves back to the table.
Now everything he needs is right there in front of him.
All he has to do is pour it.
“No. This isn’t me.” Almost pleading with himself now.
Pacing, he moves away from the table.
It comes down to this moment. He knows which way he should go.
But that promise of escape calls to him.
“What’s one more time? You can try again tomorrow.”
Steeling himself, he approaches the table.
“I am not that person anymore.” He almost believes his words.
In a moment of sheer will, he flings the bottle across the room.
Cracking against the wall, glass shards scatter on the floor.
He turns and makes his way out of the room.
Another battle behind him. He needs to rest.
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