Just one... Just tonight...

And just like that, the cycle has started again. I've just signed off on not knowing where it's going to end by taking, what is infamously called, the first drink. It takes about an hour or so, there's still lots left in the bottle, and I'm already thinking of which store I'm going to hit the next day, or which delivery service I'm going to call. You see, I'm an alcoholic, and I'm way past obsessing about the drink now. I've gambled, once again, that I'll be able to somehow reign in the compulsion to pour as much of the stuff down my throat as I can.

Two day bender at the most I figure...

By the fourth day, what's left of my mind is running on auto pilot. I make a conscious effort to not get up from my chair or my bed too fast. Because my motor skills are real bad now, and I've already fallen on my face a few times. The look in the delivery dude's eyes tells me I look either half dead or severely beat up.

Take your two dollar tip and be on your merry way, I think to myself, as I lock the door and put the chain on. Just a little paranoid at this point...

I'm ordering the real big bottles now, because I gladly accept that the first five or six ounces will only serve to empty whatever is in my stomach. I'm somehow grateful for that, in a tormented way. I need the stuff in my bloodstream, and fast. The next gulp gets there. And the next one brings that feeling. I light a cigarette, and start reading recovery stories in some book. For about five minutes, anyway. Because I start crying after only a few pages. Six or seven ounces this time. I can't afford to feel anything right now...

Morning number six...
I open my eyes and wonder what I'm doing under the kitchen table. I focus on the clock for a few minutes until I can tell what time it is; 8:30 AM.

Just one... Just tonight...

The thought that I can't possibly do this another day enters my mind. After maybe five tries, I think I've dialed my sponsor's number correctly. No answer. Maybe I'll try and lie down in bed, I tell myself. Except on the way there, I open the drawer and grab a knife. Two good slashes on my left arm. Blind lightning... In bed, on my stomach, with my arm hanging over the side, bleeding in a bowl. I wonder how come I don't feel anything. Half a bottle of tylenol and two more slices later, now I'm feeling something. Here I come, I think to myself.

(that thing they say, that you see a movie, or pictures of your life... It's true.)

911.
Help me.

The first doctor I see tells me I'm going to have to drink something he calls charcoal, to bind what's in my stomach, while they wait for the first bloodtest results. I beg him for some water and something for the shakes. Full delirium by now... Later pal. Let's see if we can save your liver from the tylenol overdose first. I look at my arm. We can stitch that up later he says. A while later, a nurse comes and hooks up another I.V. This is the 'antidote' for the tylenol. The doc wants this in you now. Looks like you got lucky with your liver.

Followed a six day medical detox in the psychiatric ward, with massive doses of librium. I wrote this shortly after returning to my apartment.