My anxiety disorder manifests itself in various ways, during unexplainable times with debilitating frequency. It hasn’t been a lifelong relationship, so it’s easy for me to blame myself: past drug and alcohol abuse; staying in a relationship which, even after a loogie was hocked in my face, I continued to play the happy fiancé and mother to my 3 step-children.
I decided to drink last night, in memory of my father(not my proudest moment, having been 12 days sober).
This morning I slept till 9:30 a.m. and rolled around in bed for half an hour. I checked emails, Facebook, texts,caught up on Trumps most recent, rambling tweets, and only desired to roll back over and get through a few more hours of life, unscathed. But, as usual my brain was “woke” and I ended up pulling myself out of bed to have my Keurig process 12, strong ounces of black coffee, before heading to the garage for a cigarette.
Next to my pack of Marlboro Light 100’s, a bottle of allergy medicine housed a tiny, zip-lock bag of 6 and 1/2 generic, yellow Xanax. I lit a cigarette and fished the bag from the bottle of little pink pills. I opened the bag, broke the yellow pill in half and tossed both pieces in my mouth, swallowing, with the bitter taste of coffee.
It is the weekend, after all, and with no paying work to focus on–the world around me has plenty of time aggravate my relapsed faculties.
Photo credit: Black Coffee | by Diaffi