Roll With It

6. Pretending's So Comfortable

I woke up feeling like I never slept. My mouth tasted funky as I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, scared to look at my own reflection. My eyes tightly shut to avoid the harsh light, I counted to ten slowly in my head before opening them. The light was blinding, and my eyes had to adjust for a minute before I was able to really see. When I was able to see myself, I wished that I was blind again. I didn't want to know how physically pathetic I looked in that moment. It was an ugly picture; my eyelids were puffy with huge bags, and my eyes were dull and bloodshot. My body ached. I could barely recognize myself. My head was pounding. Hangovers are never fun, but hangovers when you're supposed to be sober suck ten times more. Along with the migraine and stomach ache, comes failure.

I looked down at my hands and assessed the horror. My skin was pale, almost sickly so, except for the tips of my fingers, which were pink and sore from the constant picking and biting. My fingernails were non-existent. Scabby, raw skin in their place. No one tells you that this is a part of recovery- the nervous ticks and new habits. I started biting my nails badly, and I kept chewing even when the nails were halfway gone and the faint taste of blood filled my mouth. I am fidgety and shaky constantly. Addiction is awful. Relapse is worse. The more I looked at my body, the slightly rounded belly, the puffy eyes, the dull hair and fragile bones, the more I realised that drinking last night wasn't worth it.

Considering my best friend (and biggest support system) hasn't been speaking to me for three months, I was proud of myself. I was doing okay. I denied invites to go out drinking, and that made me the biggest loser around, but it was alright. It was all bearable, but of course, I had to ruin it. It was like an animalistic part of my brain took over and I didn't have any impulse control. It all happened so fast. I finally caved and went to a party. It was a familiar scene with familiar faces. Chop asked what I was drinking, and at first, I told him, "Nothing." He called me lame. I wanted to snap at him. I wanted to tell him I felt powerful, that I've never felt more in control or level-headed. I was sober, god damn it. Instead, I laughed it off and kept drinking soda.

Archie wasn't there. Chop and I stood in the kitchen while he was getting drinks, and we talked about him. Chop said he stopped going out, he was unseen at parties and hardly ever went out drinking with the gang. He's been secluded, though he still works at a market in town. Aside from his work, no one sees or hears from him. I know he and I were fighting, and that I should've just avoided the topic, but I had to know how he was. "How's he been looking?" I asked Chop. Him, confused by the question, asked "What do you mean?" as he got a can of beer and opened it. He tossed one my way too, but it remained closed in my hands. I shrugged, trying to remain casual. "Like.. He's doing okay?" I asked again. The cold can in my hands began to burn my palm. "He's doing okay." Chop said, looking me directly in the eye. He took a swig of his beer and added, "But that's on the outside. He needs his best friend, you know. You should be there for him" I opened my can and drank it in one large gulp. "You can't help someone who doesn't know they need it." I told him.

As soon as the subject came up, we moved on. I ended up doing shots with Chop and a few other guys. The moment the shot glass first touched my lips, I was no longer Finn. I was someone else. I haven't figured out who yet. All the liquor bottles made up a rainbow on the kitchen counter. They were just sitting there, mocking me and my progress. The bottles belonged to the devil. They were meant to look beautiful so that I couldn't resist them. It was like the apple Eve ate in the bible. I wanted all of the hues of drink inside of me. This sounds melodramatic, but it's the best way to describe the craving. Irresistible. I'm not myself when I'm drinking. I'm meaner, harsher. I'm better clear minded. I tell myself that every day, but sometimes, it's not enough. When I need an extra push to stay clean, I need to get creative. When this happens, the same scenario plays in my head. I imagine me with a drink, going overboard.