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The room’s spinning. Or maybe it’s me. I can’t tell.
Everything’s blurry, and I’m trying to focus, but it’s like the world’s moving too fast. The bottle’s almost empty. The bottom is like a dark hole that I can’t fill, no matter how much I drink. My hands are shaking, but I don’t care. I just need the burn.
I lift the bottle to my lips again, the glass cold against my skin. The taste is sharp — burns — but it’s the only thing that makes the ache in my chest dull for a moment. I swallow again, the taste like fire on my tongue. The warmth spreads through me, but it doesn’t feel like warmth anymore. It feels like something else, like… emptiness filling me up. The kind of warmth that leaves you colder than you were before. But for a second, it’s quiet.
Just for a second.
I drop the bottle on the floor, but it doesn’t break. Nothing breaks anymore. Nothing matters.
The light from the kitchen is too bright. Or maybe it’s just me. My head feels too heavy. It’s hard to focus on anything. I blink and rub my eyes, but it doesn’t clear. Everything’s a blur, the edges of the room melting together. The floor feels uneven, like it’s moving beneath me. I try to stand but my legs are thick and heavy, like they don’t belong to me anymore. I lean against the table, steadying myself, but I still feel like I’m about to tip over.
The air tastes stale. It sticks to my mouth, the sweetness of the liquor mixing with the dryness in my throat. I swallow, but it doesn’t help. It never helps. My stomach’s tight, like it’s being squeezed, but it doesn’t feel like hunger. It feels like something else. Something deep, like I’m missing pieces of myself, and no matter how much I drink, I can’t fill the space.
I think I should move, but my feet are stuck. Standing, I cannot move. My fingertips tingle, almost numb, and I watch them, wondering if they’re even mine. The sensation is strange, like my fingers belong to someone else. Everything feels numb, but I can still feel the weight of it, the weight of nothing. The weight of… me.
The world’s still spinning, and I can’t tell if I’m going in circles or if it’s the room that’s doing it. The edges of everything blur, like the walls are closing in. My body, having the weight of the world, can’t manage to keep a steady footing. I sink back down.
I blink again. The TV’s on, but I don’t know what it’s showing. The sound is there, but it’s muffled, like I’m underwater. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I just need the burn. I just need something to make this stop, even for a second.
Foggy, distorted images surround me. My eyelids are heavy. I find the strength to force them shut. Ok, now open up again. There is light and some figures sitting in front of me. Thirsty, I reach for the bottle again. One of the hazy figures pushes a blue jug and a glass towards me. The room moves as I lean forward for the jug of water… ok, find the handle… and hold… pour into the cup. Which one? There are two… wait, now there are five? I count again. One, two, three, four… I hear someone chuckle.
A figure takes the jug from me and pours the drink into the glass. Takes my hand and covers the glass with it.
I bring the glass to my lips, it’s water.
I push it back. Not the drink I wanted. I feel my hands resisting and pushing the drink back to my lips. I take a few sips. And a couple more sips.
The glass falls out of my hand. My chin is wet but numb. I feel some cool, wet air in my chest, too. Oh, the water must have dripped. The glass must have slipped. I blink a few times, my eyes stinging. It’s hard to see. I can’t keep my focus, can’t keep anything from slipping away. I hate this. I hate the way the world feels so far away, like I’m watching it from behind glass. Like I’m not even a part of it anymore.
The bottle’s still there. I reach for it with trembling hands, and the glass is cold, sharp against my skin. It’s familiar. So familiar. The taste hits my tongue again, and for a moment, it’s the only thing that makes sense. The burn is fire, but it’s something I can hold onto. I can’t hold onto anything else. I can’t hold onto anything in this haze.
I close my eyes for a second, but it’s like the room rushes at me even faster when I do. The dizziness is thick, like a fog. My body feels like it’s sinking into the floor, like it’s being dragged down by the weight of everything I don’t want to feel.
I can feel the tears welling up, but I don’t let them fall. I can’t. There’s nothing left for them to fall for. My chest tightens even more, and the ache spreads down into my bones. The numbness that’s supposed to be a relief is suffocating.
I chug the last bit of what’s left in the bottle. I swallow again, but this time, it doesn’t help.
I hit my head against the wall behind me.
Pain rushes to my eyes, making my vision go black. There are noises around me, someone holds my head, and another pair of hands shake my shoulders. I try to get my vision to cooperate. Okay, close your eyes. And open again. And repeat. I see a bit of light, but the blur has increased. I can hardly make out the silhouette of the blue jug in front of me. The pain grows, and my eyes are heavy.
A cold settles in my limbs. I shiver. I feel something warm thrown around me. Soft to the touch of my numb fingertips. I pull the blanket tighter around myself. It doesn’t make me warmer, but I keep holding onto it like it’s something real.
My eyes fall shut again against my will. Voices around me dim. Maybe I will sleep. No. I can’t. Because even when I’m still, even when I try to rest, it’s always there — the ache, the weight, the emptiness that never leaves.
I feel like I am swimming, no… I am flailing underwater. But I don’t move a limb. I can’t. Everything is heavy and impossible to move. The voices sound more distant.
Help me.
No sound. The usual rumble of speech from my chest doesn’t happen.
Get me out. Please.
The room spins, but my eyes are closed. The world goes darker.
I try to will my eyes open again. I fail. My eyes are closed but…
The room’s still spinning. Or maybe it’s me. I can’t tell.
