THE GRAY SIDE OF ALCOHOL

The atmosphere in my favorite den is electric, the dozens of bodies hobbling around me only egg on the clinking of glasses,

A hearty laugh to my left and a giggle to my right make me feel at home, the people inside with eyes half-lidded surround me in a cocoon of warmth,

The daylight wanes over the horizon casting the last rays of mother nature across the walls, but inside my favorite den, the day has just began.

The music gets louder with every hour that passes and more people trickle in, the highlight of the night the gyrating bodies exuding sweet sweet sweat,

Not the kind of sweetness that lies in the taste, the kind that bathes you in a sense of euphoria and drags you by your arms into a sea of bodies,

Every nudge against me and shoes stepping on mine reminds me that I exist, that my poison has brought me more feeling than 8 hours behind my desk, slaving away for my next meal.

As the night settles in more comfortably, the boisterous laughs and hearty jokes turn into loud arguments and spit in the face,

The friendly arm that rested on my shoulder drawing sweet nothings turns harsh, squeezing  for dear life as it tries to lead me to some dark corner I know nothing about,

The swaying bodies now appear erratic, as if their initial movements were only meant to lull me into a false sense of security until all my inhibitions flew out the window.

I see the exit off to the side, if I start now I can make it there before dawn breaks, but my feet seem to have the opposite idea and keep me rooted in place,

The drink in my hand now feels too heavy to carry, too tough to swallow, the woman to my right smiles to encourage me while her significant other forces the contents into my mouth,

The smiles they cast my way now seem too wide, too suspicious, too evil, and the sudden realization that I am all alone in this synchronized den of poison hits harder than my fifth shot.

My phone lies facedown on the table, devoid of calls or texts of concern, once upon a time it rang consistently, and the annoyance that crossed my face every time had been immediate,

Now, I’m left yearning for even a text from my service provider, the only one I haven’t driven away with my verbal lashes because I pay them, and yet sometimes they still fall short of daily texts,

My aging parents who considered me the golden egg no longer invite me to speak in their church, the shame they feel surpasses their love for me,

My husband works two jobs to compensate for my habit, the first inside an office and the second behind a stove, both equally tasking but he does it because I lack,

The last time he told me he loved me was when he was begging for me to stop after I’d stumbled upon our innocent child’s favorite shoes and retched acid all over them,

My friends no longer shuffle around me in comradery, I filled all of our moments with drunken thoughts that the connection drowned.

How is it that what was once normal, an every day indulgence, led me into this pit of despair and loneliness?

They promised we’d have fun, it was fun until it wasn’t, it became a violent pit of addiction that I needed to fill in order to feel everything and nothing,

The scribbled words of warning on each bottle implied it but they didn’t put a full disclaimer, they didn’t say that I would lose so much more than myself.

The only option left is to pick up the pieces, pieces that have scattered far and wide that I’d only find them if I employ a search team,

But I delved deeper than I needed to in my search for fun, I bear my own cross and I seek no help,

The journey will be long and burdensome, wide and maddening, but I seek penance for my self-inflicted flaw,

I seek redemption and the price is my sanity, a day or a year, my sentence will last until I am whole again.

By Jeanine Omondi