For All Life Has to Offer

The Life You Live

The cycle repeats itself; the patterns of life are inevitable. The fabric of you predetermines every stepping stone and falter of your painful existence. Nature vs Nurture and here you are a walking validation for both sides of the debate. Naturally this was your destiny, right? Or are you entirely a product of your environment? You will never know the right answer, the black or the white. And what does it matter? The damage is done and your fate is already carved in your tombstone.

You had your chance to turn things around, to better your life. You could've run and yet you were too naive to realize that you are in control. The wall of dependable substances while all the while unsteady stream of men kept you going, you were treading water and never realized it. Maybe occasionally it crossed your mind, maybe every once in a while, your reality would briefly reveal its true colors and overwhelming despair would come crashing through those walls but the feelings could be swallowed down with a pint or two.

Though the control of your life is completely your own, the mind can be tainted by the experiences of life. Your experiences are less than low and the constant nagging of hard times pick away at you until eventually you felt you had no choice but to be swept away by parties and nearly constant intoxication.

Surprised honestly that it took so long before it finally happened, the little red lines revealed the future inside you. The ultrasound proved that your fears were real and you cried for the child you had never intended to have. You begged for a miscarriage, hoping this would be nothing more than a blip in your timeline. But the life continued to grow and though you seriously validate woman's rights to abortion, you never stepped up to the plate.

And so, he grew, never bothering to discover the father as what difference would he make? All your pairings were scum and none would be anything but a terrible father. You quit your drinking, you eased off the drugs, you bettered yourself for the new life of your boy. You did it all yourself and though misery followed you around like a lost puppy, you found happiness in moments spent loving that child.

It was only a matter of time until the lack of significant companionship would begin to eat away at you. With your baby fast asleep and no substance to drift you away, loneliness wrapped its cold arms around you in the night. What friends you did have were left back with the life you had lived before your son and the loneliness continued to grow.

The light came peeking in through the canned goods isle of the local grocery store and when the man introduced himself, you couldn't help but fall heavily into his arms. Soon it was no longer you and your son but you, him and your son. Oblivious bliss carried you from day to day and even through the night you slept soundly with him beside you.

But as your fate would have it, a snake coil and sink fangs deep into skin and as the poison sets, you realize the danger you've put yourself in. the man you invested yourself in come home with temptations of old habits on his breathe, stumbling loudly through the kitchen and yelling for you to be quiet when you remind him your son is asleep. Naturally, the baby starts crying and you don't blame the infant but of course to drunk does and before long you find yourself between him and the cradle with an angry fist connecting with the side of your face. The bone cracks and as you fall, you already know its broken. He backs off then, steading himself before convincing you the ordeal was to no fault but your own. And you're stupid enough to believe him.

Each night the smell of his breathe made it harder to fight the already prominent desire to drink and the violence that followed only pushed you closer to a total relapse. Your son learns to walk and the pride keeps you teetering but holding on for long creates exhaustion and soon you give in. it starts innocently, a drink before your monster stumbles in and a drink before bed to help ease the pain. No day drinking you promise and yet you catch yourself pouring a glass while watching your son flip through picture books and play in the yard long before the sun sets.

Your old habits come creeping back in and though you swore you'd never drink again; it becomes part of your routine and a part of your son's too. By first grade he doesn't look twice at the liquid at breakfast and can't tell when you've had too many even though its painfully clear. Your decline increases and this life, the one you live now, is worse than before. Worse because you want to stop, you see how it effects your baby and kick yourself for filling in the shoes of your parents because you swore, you'd never be like them. And yet here you are, and here is your son, and the cycle continues.

The fighting started years ago, before your drinking but after his. You're not confrontational, you never have been, but he brings it out of you and you feel crazy around him. You don't argue about his violence towards you, you don't give a damn about that, not anymore. but you fear that one day your baby may see this, the dark that comes after he's gone to bed and the physical altercations that occurs between the two of you downstairs. So, you tell him to stop, reason with the beast you've let into your home and though no ground is made, you continue to open the door to him.

Kids grow up, curiosity ensues and by the time your boy is seven, he watches from between the railings of the staircase as you are knocked off your feet onto the hard tile of the kitchen floor. You see the shock, the fear, the concern in your baby's eyes and in that moment, you decide, enough.

So, you pack a bag, you tug your son along behind you, and you leave. The monster raves and roars within the house but doesn't follow you out to the car. A silent blessing that you're grateful for as the engine starts and you pull away from the drive, hands shaking on the steering wheel.

You promise your son that its over, you convince him while trying to convince yourself. Time passes in a motel room until days later you finally believe this will work and you don't need him. Then, your nightmare arrives in the rain and asks to talk, you don't smell any booze and make the mistake of allowing him entry.

Threats, no longer are his actions deemed your fault but instead he threatens the safety of not only you, but your boy if you don't come home. You know his threats are valid, you know the friends he has and how easy it would be for him to dispose of two bodies. He promises he won't hurt your kid; he promises he loves you and that one day he'll try to be better. One day. You know its all lies but the alternative scares you and so you go back to him.

Black or white, there is no escape for you now. You've made your bed and with your captor beside you, you must lay in it. You're not doing this for you, you're doing this for your son. You remind yourself as often as it takes to not falter, to not give in to the loathsome feelings you have for your partner because even though you're ready to die, your son has potential and his life will be better than yours ever was or ever had the potential to be. You accept your fate and toss the empty mickey aside to make room for the next one.