This Is Not the Life I Want.
I wake up in my car drenched in sweat.
I can barely breathe.
The sun is beating down and the windows are closed.
The air smells of faint perfume and stale ashtray.
I step on the brake and push the ignition button.
The windows open.
Cool air.
My head is pounding.
I’m dizzy and I can’t keep my eyes open.
I close the windows almost all the way up.
I lie back in the seat.
I can’t do this anymore.
I struggle to find a comfortable position.
This isn’t the life I want.
It all fades to black.
Thousands of dollars.
That’s what I’ve spent.
Trying to quench the thirst of loneliness and isolation.
Trying to solve a marriage that just won’t keep.
Trying to understand why I can’t change the situation.
While doing the same thing.
I take as much as I can; I do.
But there are days when the body gives in.
The back breaks.
And the plate…
The plate is so heavy and piled so high it implodes.
Its contents covering the floor.
The walls.
And me.
Covered from head to toe in shit.
I puke.
I get the chills.
And then dread’s claws reach up from somewhere deep in my body.
Wrap themselves around my stomach and squeeze.
I’m frantic.
The house closes in and I run.
I'm on the highway now.
Smoking.
Before the end of the night I’ll have smoked two and a half packs.
Two that I’ll buy somewhere and the rest that I’ll buy from other smokers.
And I’m not a smoker.
I’m in the casino now.
My heart pounding against my chest.
I sit at the slot machine that is akin to my marriage.
I give it.
It takes.
It gives me nothing back.
I feed it hundred after hundred.
In a trance.
Still mentally running.
Wanting release.
After a while the hundreds are gone.
I empty my account.
I max out my credit cards.
I ask for free play.
I’m down to my last twenty.
Playing twenty-cent bets.
I’m exhausted.
I’m spent.
I’ve been here what?
24 hours straight?
No food.
No drink.
I’m headed to the parking lot.
I move the car to spot far away from everyone.
I cry.
This is not the life I want.
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