Broken Glass L.T.

04

LOUIS TOMLINSON

The rain was coming down in sheets, beating against the windshield of my car like a relentless drum. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white. It was a reflection of my inner turmoil, my guilt, my shame.

As I drove home from the group therapy session, my mind was a chaotic mess. I couldn't shake off the feeling of being a fraud, of lying about my reasons for being there. The weight of my secrets was suffocating, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of shame.

But that wasn't the only thing weighing on my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about Eleanor, the girl I had encountered outside the building. The way she looked at me with confusion and hurt in her eyes made my stomach churn. I hate her. She had nothing on me. But her situation- A drug addict.

Pathetic

As I drove through the rain-soaked streets, my thoughts became increasingly metaphorical. The rain was a reflection of my tears, the thunder a reflection of my inner turmoil. The windshield wipers were like my thoughts, frantically trying to clear away the fog in my mind.

I couldn't help but think of the irony of the situation. I was supposed to be in group therapy to deal with my addiction and mental health issues, yet here I was, lying and hurting others in the process. It was as if I was digging myself deeper into the hole I was trying so hard to climb out of.

The guilt and shame were like a heavy cloak draped over my shoulders, weighing me down with every passing second. I felt like I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, and it was suffocating.

The only thing that gave me a shred of comfort was the knowledge that I was heading home. Home, where I could escape from the world and be alone with my thoughts. Home had alcohol. But even that comfort was fleeting, for I knew that I couldn't run away from my problems forever.

As I pulled up to my apartment complex, I couldn't help but think that the rain had followed me all the way home. It was a reminder that my problems were still there, waiting for me. I took a deep breath and braced myself for what lay ahead.

The guilt and shame were like a festering wound that refused to heal. Every time I thought about what I had done, it was like salt in the wound. I knew that the only way to heal was to confront my demons, to face my fears head-on. But that was easier said than done.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, feeling like I was climbing a mountain. The weight of my guilt was like a boulder strapped to my back, making every step feel like a Herculean effort. But I persisted, for I knew that I couldn't run away forever.

As I entered my apartment, I was greeted by the familiar scent of my surroundings. It was a small comfort, a reminder that I had a safe haven to return to. But even that was bittersweet, for I knew that I couldn't hide from my problems forever.

I collapsed onto my couch, feeling like a shell of a person. The guilt and shame were like a disease that had infected every inch of my being, leaving me feeling empty and hollow.

I took a bottle of whiskey out of the alcohol cupboard. I was finally going to feel something.

I take a swig of the whiskey in my hand, relishing in the burn as it slides down my throat. The bottle sits on the table in front of me, a silent companion in the otherwise empty room. I've lost track of how many drinks I've had, but I don't care. The numbness is what I'm after.

It's been a few days since my last therapy session, and the guilt has been gnawing at me relentlessly. I lied to everyone in the group, pretended like my addiction wasn't a problem anymore. But the truth is, I've been struggling to stay sober. It's been a constant battle, and I'm losing.