I looked out the window to see the rain trickling down the glass. I fixed my gaze on an individual droplet, watching it run in a crooked vertical line. When it disappeared from my sight and melted into the pool of water on the exterior pane, I felt an acute pang of sadness, almost as if I’d lost something.
I’d been waiting all day – well, not so much waiting, but dreading – checking a DM from someone I’d recently gotten involved with. Five minutes ago, I’d worked up the courage to read it.
Now I really wished that I hadn’t.
So here’s the thing about me. I’m an alcoholic, but I also have bipolar disorder. Which means, I get a little crazy when I drink. It didn’t used to be as bad, but lately, it had been pretty . . . well, pretty bad. I was always ashamed the next day, but it wasn’t as if I could undo what I’d done. Essentially, I’m an irresponsible thirty-one-year-old child. Couldn’t tell you how many relationships I’ve ruined with my drinking.
Anyway, as to the DM I just read. I went wild n’ out last night, behaved quite reprehensibly. In all honesty, her reply to my bullshit was quite mild, but it still hurt to read it. I couldn’t even manage to read it word-for-word. It was the last line that got me. I couldn’t remember it exactly, but it was something about me being a selfish, entitled child. Which was completely accurate – but still not fun to read.
Now, I felt that I was at an impasse. I’d been so depressed all day, I hadn’t eaten anything. But it was almost time for a drink. I suspected I might end up falling down the stairs.
I fixed my drink, my thoughts racing. I’d sent a brief response to her DM, which consisted solely of the words, I deserved that. Noted. I was at the point where I sort of hoped she wouldn’t reply. I hadn’t wanted to say nothing and thereby appear more like the selfish woman-child I truly was, but I really didn’t want to extend the conversation.
I wasn’t angry with her, of course. I was angry with myself. I was always angry with myself.
Most of my friends were undyingly supportive, no matter how wild I got. But sometimes, with certain people, I pushed it too far and spoiled everything. People told me I did it on purpose to sabotage myself, which I’m sure was also true. I didn’t deny anything about who I was. I made no excuses. But at the same time, I neglected any opportunity to change. In all honesty, it would be much easier, and a great relief besides, to simply be dead. But I’d tried twice before and fucked it up, and I did not want to spend two weeks in a pysch unit. I was talking to my best friend earlier that morning, and she informed me that, of her five suicide attempts, she only “almost succeeded” once.
Lightning flashed, and thunder cracked the night. I felt lost and empty, but didn’t feel as if I were going to cry or anything like that. There was just . . . numbness. I tried to keep a hold of my thoughts and not allow them to spiral. I stood in front of the window and sipped my drink, staring at my reflection in the glass.
I didn’t even recognize the person I saw.
Two of my favorite music artists, Lil Peep and Juice WRLD, were like male replicas of myself. And really, they were the replicas, since I was thirty-one and they’d both died within the past few years at the age of twenty-one.
Their music resonated with me, because I was them. Or at least, I was who they’d been. Reckless. Addicted. Juvenile. In pain. No respect for anyone but myself when I got upset. You’d think I might have learned some kind of lesson from the fact that they’d both died a decade younger than my present age, but that didn’t seem to be the case. In fact, as time went on, I just seemed to degenerate. Worse and worse until there was hardly anything left of me. Nothing but the deepest, most primal feelings that lurked beneath my usual stiffness and wrought havoc when I was drunk. Which I was. Every night. Yet another example of my weakness and selfishness.
I was the type of person who was meant to be alone. I made a much better friend than partner.
I sipped my drink, listening to the thunder. It matched the discord that raged within my chest.
I wished more than anything that I could think of a way to end it. It was a curious circumstance, when I allowed myself to ponder it. There were people who suffered so badly. The girl who chewed me out through a DM had a best friend, she was terribly sick and she could barely persevere through her days. I ached for her. I’d had a strange thought in the back of my mind that wandered to the forefront tonight – wishing I could trade my life for hers. Hers meant something. To both herself and her friend. Mine meant nothing to me. I would gladly exchange it. I was told she was a beautiful, generous person – and that’s what is needed in this world. Not burned-out alcoholics like me.
I felt simply thoughtful, no longer numb or depressed. I felt that an invisible eye had been opened towards me, telepathically transferring an important signal.
I set down my empty glass and wandered into the kitchen. My conscious thoughts seemed to fade, and I only knew motor movements. I felt nothing. I couldn’t see where I walked.
I only registered the moment my eyes slipped shut. I offered the god I didn’t trust a quick prayer, and requested that whatever strength I retained be sent to Anne.