REDAMANCY [h.s. au]

09

*brief mentions of poor mental health

"It's a dark pain, this urge of wanting;"
- Forough Farrokhzad

⭑Harry⭑

I don't know what to do with myself without Ivy here. Since she was born, I've rarely been without her, albeit a few weekends here and there. Especially since the divorce was finalized about a year ago, I think I've spent a collective three days without my daughter attached to my hip.

The quiet that coats the flat is both eerie and sort of nice. There's always some Disney movie or music or noises from toys that fills my eardrums on a daily basis. Even after she falls asleep, the silence that follows feels different from this.

My mum asked if she could take her for a weekend with granny. I think she could tell from our latest phone calls that I've plummeted into-not a depression-but just a funk that I can't seem to shake and wanted to give me a weekend to try to reset.

Truthfully, I do need it.

Although the guilt for needing time away from my own child is gnawing away at me. I'm thankful I have someone I can trust with her, giving her all of the love and attention she needs to thrive until she's back home with me in a couple days.

Standing aimlessly in my kitchen, I nurse a bottle of red wine, unsure what to do with myself this Friday evening.

I'm so stuck in my lane of dad mode and work mode, that this is completely foreign. I could sit and mope around all weekend, but I'm not sure that'd be any help to the current sullen mess that is my mind.

If I don't get out now, I'll stand here all night, sinking into the grave that my thoughts lower me to. I have the rest of the weekend to sort out my head.

Right now, I think I need to be out, be around other people, be a bit social.

So I decide to trade my typical night of watching Frozen for the hundredth time for the loud chatter of a mediocre pub. No bath time with lavender scented wash, but the smell of stale beer for me tonight.

After one more hefty glass of wine that I drink down quicker than the one before, I snatch a coat off the rack and let my feet take me to the first bustling pub that feels right.

I stumble upon one that's neither busy nor dead. Young twenty-something's play pool in the darkened corner, boys shamelessly flirting with pretty girls, and loud drunkards settled at the bar sipping cheap drinks. The perfect place for me to search for answers at the bottom of each whiskey-filled glass I'm sure to indulge in.

A seat at the end of the bar is open, perfect for anonymity. An older bartender with graying hair and a mustache wobbles over to me, asking, "What can I get ya?"

"Whiskey on the rocks, please." My voice is raspy, having not said a word all day. These are the first ones that have left my mouth since I said bye to my mum and Ivy this morning.

"Coming right up," he mutters as he walks over to grab a bottle of whiskey off the shelf. Ice fills a chipped cup, as does a heavy pour of amber liquid and he's sliding it over to me with a straight-lipped smile.

The first drink goes down smooth, the second one going down even easier. The haze of alcohol blurring my mind, actually giving me a break from the relentless thoughts that drown me.

Onto my third whiskey, I clutch it in my hand, the pub growing with noise and people, it swells with the heat of human bodies and the smell of spilt beer on the floor. A steady flow of people stream in, giving me lots of content for people watching.