I Chased Escapes at The Bottom of a Bottle, One Day I Stopped Running

June 6th, 2021

I feel like shit.

My mind is tapioca, the sheets are soaked, and there’s a pool of sweat between my pecs.

Thank god we’re not home; thank god it’s our last night in the B & B.

I feel terrible for whoever strips the bed later.

We’ll be heading home, leaving Newport, and celebrating the launch of “Blank Canvas” behind.

Publishing the book was the most significant accomplishment of my life; it deserved a celebration, and I couldn’t think of a better place.

And I celebrated the way I’ve always known how, with alcohol.

But it’s not the same anymore.

I craved, no, I needed, alcohol to take over.

I needed that momentary reprieve from my haunting desire to rip my skin off and run.

To escape the anguish of living a life that was nothing more than a race, not to a finish line, but away from myself.

I chased that escape at the bottom of more beer, wine, and rum bottles than I can count.

Alcohol was my savior, but not anymore.