The story of an alcoholic Writer

He rose his head from the table, he was sleeping there for the past few hours or so he thought, because when he checked the time, he discovered that he slept back on the sofa and head on the table for the past day. He got used to this by now; it has been already two weeks that he is keeping the same pace. He has been drinking alone, he get hammered all by himself and then wakes up to find his head lying between the bottles and papers.

He thought that drinking would help him forget the path his life is taking and the feeling of loneliness he can’t shake off or maybe it will fill the emptiness that is driving him insane but deep inside he always knew that won’t help him. Hell, he even knew that being drunk most of the time won’t make him a better writer or a poet because on the contrary of most poets around the world he needed to be sober to be able to write and create and alcohol only drove him insane.

That day, he woke up and he knew he had enough he actually pushed all the things that were in front of him on the table. The bottles fell down and smashed on the floor, to leave shattered parts all over his living room. The house was empty and cold, because without someone to hold, he was freezing and not even the heater could help him.

Since the one he thought was the love of his life left him, he has been feeling the loneliest in the world. The house is empty and didn’t get a visitor for few months now.

He stood up and collected the papers he spent the night trying to fill, he read a bit and knew it was just a waste of ink! It drove him insane because even the only thing he knew he was always good at which is writing, wasn’t going as good as he expected it to be a year ago when he started his book project. He left his job and stayed at home, he refused to use the laptop or even a typing machine and chose to go at it the old way, just papers and pen!

He knows that was the reason, she left him, the love of his life. He was doing nothing, no job and nothing to do but write and even during that time he was struggling with inspiration, he didn’t write for days and sometimes it went to weeks, so his mood was shit. He spent the days between video games and movies! She advised him to read a bit but he didn’t want his writing style to be affected by the books he is reading. So his mood turned shit and he made her life a living hell and he always said she wasn’t paying enough attention to him and his troubles but now that he thinks about it, she actually did, no she gave more attention to his silly miserable existence more than she should have.

He looked at his papers again, and nothing pleased him so he tore the papers in shreds and threw them in the room! He started smashing stuff all over the house, screaming like a mental and after a while he crawled to the corner of the room and stayed there for an hour or so, like he was afraid of the world and he was crying his heart out until he passed out.

He saw her in his dreams again, she was there, just standing next to a wrecked house, nothing was clear but that place looked familiar, more than it should he guessed.

She was telling him the words over and over again: “Look what you’ve become, you ruined everything”

He woke up from the dream still crying but there was an echo of her voice in his mind saying all over again: “You ruined everything” “you ruined everything” “you ruined everything”

He wiped his face with the hands of his sweater and he stood up and started cleaning the garbage of a living room he had. He collected the piles of papers he had all over the place and threw them in the trash, then turned to the shreds of glass and cleaned that.

The sun was making the room unbearable for him so he closed the window and made it a bit dark and he lit a joint that was on his desk and started thinking about his existence. He knew this is going nowhere, he knew he had to change something. He looked at his room again and he went out to clear his mind a bit with the joint still in hand.

He threw it on the ground and somehow he found himself in a liquor store, he was becoming an alcoholic and there was nothing he could do! He took his courage in two hands and left the liquor store without buying anything and went to a shop where he bought stuff he needed to the house but without focusing on what he was buying. Then went to an antique store where he bought the thing he needed the most.

He came back home, cooked a steak and some fries and after eating he cleaned the dishes missing the days he actually shared meals with someone.

He set in front of the typing machine he just bought, and admired its beauty for a while and thought to himself that it was time he did something useful and decided to pursue his dreams of writing a book.

He put a paper in the machine and wrote the first words which were nothing but: “Wreck, my life is a wreck”.

He laid his back on the chair and lit a cigarette, thinking about what he has become and how he had it all and tossed in the trash. He had a good job, a beautiful lady who loved him so much at his side but he decided it wasn’t enough.

He felt the need to write but words escaped and he couldn’t think of a way to finish his ideas. He stood up and paced the room smoking his cigarette and thinking about his purpose in life, and then it hit him! Maybe his life was missing some spirituality, he was living in a godless world and he didn’t even believe in love until he met her, but if love exits maybe even god does. He sat in front of his desk and all his life was flashing in front of him, the good days, the laughter, the kisses, the love, the late night conversations, the fun and then the fights, the wreck, the shattered dreams and the tears.

He stood up again and this standing up and sitting down endlessly was actually making him sick, he put a song in his gramophone and he closed his eyes to leave a place in his soul for good music and he went back to the desk where he lit a cigarette and listened to the relaxing music for few minutes while he smoked yet another cigarette he lit after turning on the gramophone.

He looked at a bottle of alcohol he had on the desk and he thought: “did I really buy this while shopping, this is a sign” he smiled while pouring some of that old rum in his glass. Then, he held the glass in his hand and looked to the sky or to be more accurate the roof of his living room and said: “Well All mighty God, if you do exist, this is your last chance” and he gazed at his typing machine while drinking rum and getting lost in thoughts.

                                                                                                          W.H