For years I had known I was an alcoholic. My wife and I both became sick pretty much from the onset of our relationship. It was nothing but a disaster waiting to happen, and it did; sadly for her, it was the end of her life; sadly for me, it wasn’t over yet. I spent the next four-plus years working on trying to die, both because I missed my friend and drinking partner, and because I couldn’t get away from the Beast, so I tried to make it kill me.
But I was in for a rough awakening. Try as I might to force the Beast to take me out, Death apparently had different set of instructions to follow, and so roped off the Beast. I would discover this on the morning of September 21, 2013.
I’m not sure how, but I opened my eyes to view the dark. The trembling was nonstop, running deep from within, and I wondered how I had survived. How didn’t I just die? I defiantly blinked back the only tear that was born of both anger and relief; wishing the Beast had finished me off, yet somehow grateful that Death hadn’t yet unleashed the monster.
I tried to move, but my body was rigid from dehydration and what must have surely been near death; the cramps had painfully stiffened my muscles and joints, and yet I quaked inside and out. My tongue adhered to the roof of my mouth, and my lips were sealed shut; I could barely breath through my stuffed, dry nose.
'Why didn’t I just die?!' I begged to know.
It was the shaking that got to me. The god-awful, incessant shaking. I just wanted the trembling to stop. This was one of the very reasons I called for the false comfort of the Beast, knowing it would destroy me in my mental absence, and erase my lonely existence in this loathsome world.
I rolled my eyes through their sand filled sockets, dryly blinking in an attempt to focus. It was still early morning, or late night, depending on the kind of person one is. I didn’t really care; I wasn’t as dead I as had hoped to be, and that was a problem for me.
Agitated and barely able to breath, I sat up. Through the pounding headache, I painfully rummaged through the alarm-clock lit room, searching for the case of vodka I knew I had; a series of which became unnumbered by now. Since I was still alive, surely there was enough left to finish the job. The demonic Beast was going to take me out soon – like it or not – I was sure of it this time.
The box was empty? This had to be a different box! There was no way I finished off that case and remained alive. No. Way.
I began knocking things over as I searched for my glasses and phone. Trembling terribly, I managed to get my fingerprint covered glasses on my face, closing one eye to focus on the phone I was attempting to pick up. I couldn’t hold it with one hand, I was shaking too badly. I managed to get it to light up. It was just after two in the morning, on a Saturday. It dawned on me that I’d missed multiple days of work. I had no idea – I had blacked out for days, yet I was still alive.
Fear of what I'd done or said gripped my heart and soul, again. I later found out that my parents had come to visit me, at least once, even late at night/early morning, just to be sure I was okay. What a horrible person I was, scaring my parents half out of their wits.
Angrily, I searched for another bottle as I sat on the edge of my bed. Anything. Something. I needed to stop the shaking; the twitching was just beginning. I had to stop!
The search was in vain. The quaking had reached a point that was driving me insane, I was shivering head to toe. How could I make this stop?! A shower. A nice, hot shower. I stood up, only to fall right back down. I couldn’t keep myself upright, my legs would twitch too much, so I dropped to the floor and began crawling. I had to get to the shower, I absolutely had to stop shaking.
As I crawled, twitching on all fours, I found what I was looking for, ’There’s a bottle! There’s a bottle!’ I thought in excitement. To my horror, I found it was just another empty-among-empties. I’m not sure if I was more disappointed, or angry; either way, the bottle flew across the room to the ever growing pile of known toss-aways.
Once to the shower, I turned the water on as hot as I could handle it, and I lay there, water pouring over my head and eyes. I began to lap up the water, quenching my parched lips, mouth, and sore throat. I could smell the stench of alcoholic-pickling running off my body as my skin shuttered from the temperature.
The shower did nothing for the shaking. All it managed to do is get me wet, and get some fluid into my system. Nonetheless, I remained in the shower for a very long time, turning the water hotter and hotter as it cooled down. Eventually, when the water was cold, I crawled out of the shower; and the shaking continued.
On my way back to my bed, my desperation to stop the incredibly painful shaking spurred another frantic search for the bottle. I knew it existed, I knew it was there, it had to be; just where? Bottles began flying across the room, blankets and pillows came off of the bed. I searched as much as a tweaking-drunk could search – and then I saw the Gold, plain as day. I had enough for a couple of mouthful-shots in a half gallon bottle. I was so glad to see that bottle. If I could get those two shots down, the shaking would get under control, and I could go get more vodka.
But I couldn’t hold the bottle long enough to open it. Even when I was able to clamp it between my legs, I still couldn’t get the cap off; it would slip out of my grip. But I wasn’t finished. No, I had another plan, a better plan. I would simply get a new bottle with a loosened cap. Yes. It’s as simple as that. I would just drive to the liquor store and get another case. Except that I couldn’t drive. Hell, I couldn’t even stand.
I began to concoct this idea of getting a ride to the liquor store. I started to reason that maybe I could talk one of my brothers into taking me; then I could get another case, get it into my room, and finish the job. But no, they’d feel guilty of my death, so I threw that out. I wasn’t looking to hurt anyone else, only myself.
I began to regret not going to get one of the guns I could’ve borrowed. But I knew that I would have had to sober up before anyone would’ve loaned it to me, and getting sober wasn’t about to happen. Besides, I didn’t want my nephew walking in and seeing my brains all over the wall. Again, I was out to rid the world of me, not cause more harm. With the same reasoning, I didn’t think hanging myself was any good either; so I figured that if my nephew walked in on me and I was simply in my bed, not breathing, it would somehow be okay.
Based on that, I decided that I could call on a taxi. Yes! That was it! I could have them bring it to me! But that was illegal, so they wouldn’t do that. They could give me a ride! But no, the liquor store wouldn’t sell it to me, if I could even stand in line. But they might the cabbie! But again, that would be illegal.
And then, it hit me; I would just get a ride to the hospital. No taxi driver would refuse to help someone get to the hospital, right? Once there, the ER doctors would have to help me! That’s what they told me when I rushed my dying wife to the hospital on two different occasions, “We’re only helping her because you brought her to the ER, and legally, we have to. Otherwise, she’s so far gone, there is nothing we would do for her.” Surely I would get some drugs to help me stop shaking. This was a great idea.
I’d concluded that once the shaking was under control, I could get a taxi ride back home, where I would then proceed to get into my car, drive to the liquor store, buy my case, and come home. Knowing what I did about the effects of drugs and alcohol together, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was going to die. A saddened smile of miserable relief crossed my lips.
But as I reached for my phone, I realized that I couldn’t stop shaking long enough to hold the phone, let alone dial a phone number or enter the passcode. But it didn’t stop me from trying. I tried, and tried again, and yet again. And then, to my amazement – the phone was suddenly ringing on the other end!
“Hello?” came a woman’s voice, one that I recognized all too well. Somehow, I’d managed to call my mother from the emergency contact list. But I didn’t care at this point, I couldn’t handle the constant quaking, so I asked for a ride to the hospital, to which she gladly accepted the request.
I had every intention of fulfilling my death plan; the Beast would eat soon. I didn’t care if my parents suffered the blow. I was sick and tired of existing; out of control, miserable, and feeling worthless. I knew my transport was just the beginning of the trip to my Destination.
What I didn’t know was, my Destination wasn’t where I had planned and expected it to be...