Pain-stained Journals | Anthology

5 | Bottomless cup

I was used to my dad drinking alcohol. He taught me to drink without realizing it. Alcohol made him a life hero, but only in his eyes. When he drank, he was becoming aggressive, and with each sip of the stained liquid, we were fearing more. My mother and I always stood across him, watching him from afar. We knew how his beating tasted; we knew it as well as he knew the taste of that liquor.

After aggression comes the hangover, and it's even worse. My father used to be crazy about my mother but when he found his ally in liquor, she faded into the background. Every day a new drink was what we were used to.

I was little, too young for what I was witnessing. My mother wanted to leave with me, but she didn't have money. What I saw in that house made me the type of person I am now. Screaming of my father were just natural circumstances. He screamed instead of talking, and that coupled up with liquor made him unpredictable, even mad.

I never learned from my father's mistakes so when he drowned himself in alcohol I went on his path towards alcoholism. Through those years of me living and breathing, I learned no lesson. Time passes by quickly, and I know I lost so much of it. Wasting my time and money on drinking made it my only passion. I say passion because I involve drinking with my entire heart. It beats because it wants a sip, or at least that is what I think.

Living in constant fear as a child made me fear. That is why I end all my feelings at the root by drinking liquor. Alcohol drifts away from all the pain and emotions I feel. My favourite part of the day is going drunk. Drinking with friends? I was used to weekly drink meets with my friends, but now I am all alone. All of them died because they drank themselves to death. I should stop unless I want to follow in their footsteps. Even that terrible thought won't break my cycle of never-ending drunkenness.

Liquor is the only thing I trust now. It has been with me since the beginning, standing there on the nightstand of my father's for all these years. I remember times when I asked my dad what it is. He said it is the "Drink of Gods". I have never been so fascinated by one sentence than at that moment.

Sometimes you got to stop drinking, but you won't unless you are not sick. I am sick to my head; I suffer from alcoholism without blaming myself. However, blaming others, especially my dead father, is my favourite activity. The times when I was used to drinking day and night in high school made me irritated. My anger goes towards time because all my shiny young years have passed. Time is justified and by knowing that I am even more furious.

My ex-wife was co-dependent on me. She tried to help me in many ways, but it could not work. It would never be successful because I didn't want change. Change is for stupid people. Feeling good in the present place is what is most important.

Shattered glass, broken bottles, liquor spilt on the ground.

This view was the last one my wife shared with me. I said goodbye to her when she got in my way of drinking. She couldn't bear it anymore, I felt that. After that came loneliness. I drank more and more, without a care in the world. I found a job a couple of years before and received a lifetime opportunity by inheriting my father's properties. It turned out he had a dozen of those and never shared any information with me and my mother.

My mother doesn't want to see me either, she is afraid of what I have become. I would have been afraid too if I was healthy, but I am nowhere near healthy. My life is full of empty bottles, bottles without alcohol. But this one black sheep always finds its way to my mouth. I sip and sip, always tasting the last sip longer than the rest. Losing is not my name, so I know my drinking life will be alright.

Alcoholism. I tried to do something with it, indeed I tried, and I went on Anonymous Alcoholics meetings, but this didn't help too. They all talked like my ex-wife, I got sick of it and left. I don't see a point in those meetings, if I managed to sit through a couple of speeches of broken alcoholics, I should be fine.

Controlling the amount of alcohol, I am drinking is something I tried one year ago, and never again. The hunger, the need, I fell over one day of sobriety was unbearable. I was pulling out my heart, biting my cheek just to make the need stop. It didn't last a day. My willingness to try it was worthy of mentioning that one meeting. The faces of people at the meeting make me sick to my stomach. The way they look at you, judging you by how you look and how you act, without knowing what you have been through. Once only at the meeting, I poured my heart out to my speech. My speech was so intense that I got standing ovations. I couldn't care less because after that meeting I went to the shop and bought myself a winning price that I craved the entire day.

In the past and the present alcohol was and is my lifetime companion. It went through many adventures with me. Drinking until I passed out on the street, waking up in an unknown place, sleeping next to a woman I did not know were just a few things of all those years I spent drunk.

Many life opportunities were lost due to my drinking. It wasn't that I stopped caring from the beginning. After the times got worse, I just decided to drink even more and forget about my chances. Those changes were lost with the dying sip of my drink. My dream to go to college, my dream to work in a dream job and my aim to love that one person endlessly, all gone with a shutter.

I lost control. Drinking for what seems like forever made me clueless about the surrounding world. "The world doesn't matter, give me liquor" was my motto. When they ask what I drink that I adore it so much. I say I drink everything; every alcohol choice comes in handy when it comes to my tastes.

People worry because they see with their open eyes. An Addicted person doesn't have opened eyes. My eyes were closed since my childhood. They closed and the picture they view in my mind is that fascinating "Drink of Gods". My father built the path to death for him and me, and I decided to follow that path because what else I could do when for all these years all I have known was that stained liquid taste?

Recovery? I don't need it. Wasting my life all these years can't go for anything, I got to waste my life even more for it to become more worthless. The Matter of my life is closed. My life is not improving, so I don't make any new attempts.

It's my bottomless cup that keeps me warm at night, he keeps me company through late times. Not many people can write that long about their best friend.