lost → liz gillies

Chapter 6: A Descent into Darkness

The routine of Liz's life had become a fractured existence, with alcohol as her dubious anchor. Each day started with a searing hangover that had now become a dreaded companion, clawing at her consciousness. Her eyes would flutter open at the crack of dawn, her heart pounding in her chest as panic washed over her like a tidal wave.

"What did I do last night?" she would think, her mind clouded by the haze of alcohol. Her first coherent thoughts were an inventory of her mistakes. How much whiskey had she consumed? Who had she called or texted in her inebriated state? Had she engaged in bitter social media arguments? Had she gorged on food she could never afford to eat, given her allergies?

It was a grim realization every morning. The night before was a blur, a chaotic montage of slurred words and hazy memories. She'd feel the remnants of a headache creeping in, her mouth dry as the Sahara, her body drenched in cold sweats. And then came the most crushing thought of all: she had to get up for work in just a couple of hours.

"Maybe I should call in sick today," she'd muse as her trembling hand reached for her phone. The thought was tempting, the allure of a day spent in bed to recover from her self-inflicted misery. But, it was a temptation she rarely indulged in. The weight of her responsibilities pressed down upon her, and with a heavy sigh, she'd dismiss the idea.

Dragging herself out of bed, she'd stumble into the bathroom, the harsh, unforgiving light reflecting the toll her lifestyle was taking on her. The woman who had once been the epitome of vibrancy and talent was now a mere shadow of her former self.

Showering did little to alleviate the crushing hangover. The water was scalding, an attempt to wash away not just the grime but the shame that clung to her like a second skin. She'd emerge, pale and trembling, and confront the day that loomed ahead.

The morning coffee was a necessity, but it did little to ease the remorse that gnawed at her. It was a bitter brew, as bitter as the regrets that filled her mind. The day stretched before her like an unending gauntlet, and she'd curse it under her breath, cursing her own choices and her rapidly deteriorating life.

Throughout the day, she'd trudge through the motions at work, a mere shadow of her former self. The charisma and dedication that had once been her trademarks were now replaced with a subdued, worn-out version of herself. Her colleagues, who had noticed the gradual transformation, exchanged concerned glances, but the unspoken elephant in the room remained unaddressed.

But her misery was far from over. As the hours ticked away at a glacial pace, her thoughts would become consumed with a singular focus: when could she start drinking again? The bottle, her dark savior, was never far from her thoughts. It became her carrot at the end of a grueling day, promising a temporary reprieve from her inner demons.

The cycle was relentless, an unending torment. The woman who had once been a rising star was now spiraling into the abyss of addiction. With each passing day, the chasm between her past and present self grew wider, and the walls of her self-imposed prison closed in. Her life had become a series of regrets, and the darkest hours were yet to come.