Crestfallen [COMPLETED]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ - 23

Alex

I sit at my desk, surrounded by the hum of the hospital. This place that used to be my sanctuary.
Still is.

Memories of the dark times flood my mind. The loss of my patient, the crushing weight of depression.
The self-destructive path I took when I started drinking.

It felt like a never-ending nightmare. When grief had engulfed me entirely.A time when life had lost all meaning.

Now, I'm back at work, my medical license reinstated, and I'm seeking therapy to overcome my battle with alcoholism.

But the scars of that dark time still linger, like a constant reminder.

I open a drawer on my desk, searching for something, and my fingers brush against a photo frame.

It's Joanna. In the photo.

Wearing a black dress and smiling. The sight of her, hits me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, it's as if time freezes.

Her smile, the happiness in her eyes, it's all there in that photograph. The woman I fell in love with, the woman who used to be my home, my strength.

My wife.

I hold the frame in my hand.

How stunning does she looks, how full of life.

I used to keep this on my desk, right in front of me.
I would glance at it whenever I missed her during my long shifts at the hospital.

But now, this very same photo frame feels like a reminder of the distance between us.

I place it back inside the drawer, my heart heavy with the weight of
it all.

A pang of hurt crosses my face as I realize how far we've drifted apart. If only I had been a little less stubborn.

With a sigh, I turn my attention back to my work, trying to bury thoughts of her away..

It's not easy, but it's what I have to do to keep moving forward, to find some semblance amidst the chaos  my life and marriage have become.

...........................................................

I sit in a circle of strangers, all of us bound by a common struggle, a shared battle against alcohol.

The room is filled with a plethora of emotions—resignation, hope, vulnerability. Of brutal experiences.

As each person speaks, I listen, my own thoughts churning, the swirl of my own regrets and memories.

A woman shares her story, her voice tinged with pain, yet also with a determination to overcome her demons.

I find myself nodding in empathy, recognizing with the familiar struggles that alcohol has brought in her life.

The weight of my own past choices bears down on me, a heavy burden that I can't escape.

When it's my turn to speak, I take a deep breath.

I admit to these strangers that I had let alcohol control me.
It had been a crutch I turned to in my darkest moments.

The words tumble out, a confession I never thought I'd share openly.

It's both liberating and terrifying, baring my soul to these people who are just as broken as I once was. I feel like I still am in many ways.

I catch glimpses of understanding in their eyes.There's no judgment here, only support and kindness.

I reach a point in my story, where I pause. I can't help but think of Joanna.

She had stood by my side through those tumultuous times.

Her unwavering support, her love had shone even in those bleakest moments of mine.

"You are a lucky man, to have her support by your side," an older woman's voice breaks through the silence.

Her words pull me back to the present, and I nod in response, my throat tightening with emotion.

Yes.
I had been lucky. I still am, in a way.  I try to mask the unease that creeps in, with the reminder.

I take a deep breath, pushing the thoughts aside. This is a place for healing, for honesty. Not the burden of the pressing sadness I still feel.

And as I continue to share more, I can't help but feel a tinge of determination.

I feel a glimmer of optimism, a belief that maybe, just maybe, I can overcome the darkness that had once consumed me.

That's it's going to get better eventually, and sooner.