Every Day Is The Same: The Life of An Alcoholic

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Every day it’s the same thing. I wake up around noon. The sunlight pierces my eyes like a knife. I’m disoriented, confused, not sure where I am or how I got here. Am I home? Am I in a motel room? Am I in a bed? Am I in an alley? Where the hell am I, and how did I get here?

As the brain fog slowly begins to clear, I’m able to piece together a few simple thoughts; vague images of the night before including the holy trinity of drinking, cocaine and cigarettes. How did I get into bed? I don’t remember. Who was I with? What did I do that I’ll regret later? Were the police involved? Did I hurt anybody?

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I try to stir my body, but it feels like I’ve been hit by a train. Every bone and muscle hurts. My head is pounding, pounding, pounding. Bitter bile rises from my stomach to meet my throat. Nausea comes in waves. The taste in my mouth is foul, like I’ve been nibbling on dog shit appetizers. The smell of my own breath meets my nostrils making me wretch.

I notice the familiar trembling, the horrible tremors that I dread each morning. My body is rattling, shaking from the inside. Every organ is shivering, not from cold but from poisoning, rejecting what I’ve forced upon them, fighting for survival.

I lie there, shaking, slightly confused, frightened. How did I get here again? Every day it’s the same damn thing!

I roll over and try to stand. My body feels battered and weak. It takes all my effort to stand and stumble to the bathroom.

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I look at my face in the mirror, bloated and puffy; watery eyes; oily hair; yellowing teeth; dry skin. I barely recognize myself anymore. I’m 42 years old but I could easily pass for 62. I look worn out, exhausted, spent. I’ve put on so much weight I can’t see my feet over my stomach. The idea of living a long life never crosses my mind anymore. I know it’s just a matter of time before my body gives up on me; I’m rotting from the inside.

I fall to my knees and purge the contents of my stomach into the toilet, a deluge of liquid that smells like vodka and beer.

Another day has begun.

Greasy food! That’s what I need! That’s what is going to help me get through this horrendous hangover. Now my goal becomes very simple; get a huge cheeseburger, a large order of french fries and a chocolate milkshake. That’s what will save me!

After I guzzle down a pot of coffee and smoke several cigarettes I head outside into the miserable daylight and head to McDonald’s. Even though it’s only a few blocks away, I drive. Why bother walking?

I return home with my bag of greasy grub and drop like a stone onto the couch. I eat, watch crappy TV shows, and smoke half a pack of cigarettes. I have no fresh water in my apartment so I drink tap water that tastes like dirty shoes.

Throughout the day I tell myself that I won’t drink tonight no matter what. Enough is enough. I need to slow down. I’m going to take a night off. I’ll get a good night’s sleep and in the morning I’ll rise early, feeling refreshed, and take a long walk. Maybe I’ll even jog a few blocks just to work up a good sweat. I’m going to start eating better tomorrow. I’ll load up the refrigerator with fresh fruits and vegetables, lean protein and a case of spring water. That’s what I need, I tell myself; sleep, exercise, and healthy food.

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My new resolution to get healthy cheers me up. I feel less hungover, the tremors have subsided. The pounding in my head is less severe. I manage to slip off into a semi-restful nap, haunted by strange dreams.

When I wake up from my nap I feel better. I light a cigarette and head to the kitchen for some tap water. As I drink the foul tasting water I notice the half-empty liter of Smirnoff vodka on top of the refrigerator. I stare at it, transfixed, like a moth contemplating a flame. It seems to be staring back at me, waiting.

Tomorrow is a new day. I’m going to start fresh and healthy, I tell myself. I’m going eat right, exercise and stop drinking so much

It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. I’m feeling optimistic and excited about the new life I’m going to start tomorrow. Maybe I’ll have just one shot to celebrate my new life that starts tomorrow. No big deal. Tomorrow’s going to be awesome! I can’t wait for tomorrow!

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I grab the vodka bottle. This is going to be the last time. I pour a small shot, not a full one. No reason to get carried away.

I quickly toss it back; feel the familiar burn down my throat and the soothing warmth through my body. Ease and comfort arises.

Tomorrow is going to be great! I can’t wait for tomorrow. I’m going to start a whole new health regimen.

I pour another shot, a full one this time. I drink it fast.

The burn…the ease…the comfort.

I quickly pour a third shot, chasing after the sensation running through my body. It feels too good. Why stop now?

It begins again, the same today as every day. I pour another shot.


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2 thoughts on “Every Day Is The Same: The Life of An Alcoholic”

  1. Pingback: The Damage Done from Long Term Alcohol Abuse - Addiction Crush

  2. I know that except Cocain part I used to keep telling my self agh one ain’t bad (beer) then it turns into a six pack then a twelve pack oh hech thirty pack after that it ain’t enough add a bottle through all start getting sick shakes now oh a fix will help ease off buying whatever friend says can’t just quit or you’ll go into shock
    The weakness is horrible can’t do the simple things now that I have stopped or better yet quit I have strength to do simple things even hard labor no more fears or worries and have a lot more money for food rent and others amen

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