Recovered (Rough Draft)
Updated: Apr 12
Chapter 1 The End was the Beginning
It’s 3 a.m. and I’m shivering. Half of my body is sweating and the blankets on the bed have lost my heat. My mind is racing. I can’t hold a thought for more than a few seconds. My eyes can’t decide if they want to be open or closed. It doesn’t really matter. I feel the bags pulling below my eyes as I picture what I look like in the mirror. I roll again. It doesn’t help. the blanket is cold against the side of my face as I pull it up tighter. I try to focus. I feel like I have supersonic hearing. My mind races from what I look like to how cold I am, to if I should sneak into the garage and try to sip a beer. Instantly I feel a sense of calm at the thought of a beer. I know it will help. I feel like I’m going crazy! I have to leave for work in 3 hours and I’m losing my mind. I roll again to see if I will wake up my wife. A test. Can I get out of bed and her not hear me. Can I make it to the garage and back and not get caught. She doesn’t move. I wait a second. My mind is focused now. Focused on the moment of getting better. That’s it. I slide out of bed this time. I head to the bathroom first just in case she wakes. I flip on the light and stare myself down in the mirror through heavy eyes. I can’t believe I look like this. I’m supposed to be at work today. I’m the foreman. People depend on me. I will drink a little and it will allow me to go to sleep for a few hours and maybe I’ll look better. The bedroom floor is carpet so it muffles my steps, but the hall is laminate. Luckily the bedroom door is open so I don’t have to worry about the sound it makes, but like most hardwood or laminate floors, the hall has a creek with just about every step. I make my way to the kitchen as quietly as possible. My balance is off. It feels like my head is full of Jell-O, just enough as though it’s swishing back and forth as I walk. I make it to the garage door and down the three concrete steps as I lightly pull the door shut. The floor is cool on my bare feet and covered in small bits of debri that tag along as I walk. In the back corner of the garage is a pile of boxes, there’s a ledge from the cinderblocks about 3 feet high where I hid 3 Busch lights from the night before. I grab the first one and tuck it under my shirt. Even though I’m at least a hundred feet away with 5 walls and 2 doors, I act as if she’s in the next room. My fingernail finds the tab and I pop it. It’s the middle of summer so even at three a.m. the garage is warm. So the beer is warm. Not cold the way I like it, but I’m desperate so I don’t care. My shirt doesn’t seem to do a good job of muffling the sound but it soaks up the suds. I kick the tab to the right like I do with every beer I drink, and without hesitation I chug it back. My eyes stay open, glued to the garage door. Imagining it opening with my wife standing there. What would I do? What would I say. It literally takes seconds and the beer is gone. I set it last in line on the ledge and grab the next one. I feel the beer making its way to my stomach as if I just swallowed a whole bowl of spaghetti in one bite. It hurts. My stomach is sour. It’s Wednesday morning, and the three beers on the ledge are what’s left of the twenty four pack I bought on my way home last night. Like every night. My stomach can’t take it. I feel like I’m going to puke. I do everything I can to hold it back. Time is ticking. My eyes are fixed on the door. I begin to dry heave a little. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday at lunch. I don’t like to eat when I drink. A few more dry heaves and I can’t stop it. It comes back up. Mostly beer suds. I’m still determined not to throw up everywhere so I catch it in my mouth. I turn to the nearest spot I think I can hide it. Behind the other side of the boxes, and I let it out. The sound is as loud as the beer popping open. My eyes are watering so bad it looks as though I’m crying. The beer suds had no place to go so they were also running out of my nose. I use my shirt to dry my face and in the same motion I pop the next one. I wait a second. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. My body is trying to reject the alcohol. It’s defending itself. But I need it. I take a few deep breaths and then a big drink. I try to take it slower on this one but my anxiety seems to get worse. I feel like every second I’m out there is another second I might get caught. The second one goes down a little better and then in into its place in line. And so does number three. I leave the cans there to deal with later, and the puke. And I get back in the house.
Author’s Notes : Wow! This is a lot harder than I thought! I’ve started writing, but figuring out how to write this, where to take the story, how much to describe, how long to make the pages and chapters and……… Just Wow! Not what I thought at all. But I’m loving it. It’s very therapeutic and is very exciting being something I’ve never done before. The thought of what it could be and the endless possibilities of creativity in writing is amazing. Even non fiction writing. Never thought I would enjoy writing a book, I barely like reading books to be honest! This will be something I definitely continue. It may not be every post, but I will share as I go! I will probably share as I go with author’s notes like this to help share where I’m at in the process. I can definitely see the end result (The Book) being much different as I learn how to tell my story and grow as a writer, but this will be awesome to look back on and have as a part of the process, and having ya’ll come on this journey with me is even better! Hope you like it.
Let me know what you think!
Thank you, this can’t be at all an easy topic, and I am very impressed with your courage to share.…
Mikel – It’s Raw but it’s real. As we follow this Recovery thread, I can hardly wait for the part…
Ah, you are following a path, my dear! Fortunate to have family with. Best wishes, always
Working on it😊
Are you going to write a chapter 2 on Recovered? I have been waiting for more….Keep doing what your doing…