Road of Regret part 1

“I’ve been down 20 years, and I’ll be down 20 more

Wait 20 years to see what’s in store

Well I’ve loved and I’ve lost and I’ve fell behind

And I take a drink to clear my mind” – The Grays CT

The alarm won’t stop buzzing. I try to ignore it, but of course I had already planned for this last night and set the volume as high as it can go. This alarm could wake the dead if I kept it on for long enough. I am able to ignore for a short time, but once the neighbors start pounding on the walls I know it’s time to get up and shut the damn thing off.

I walk into the bathroom and take a long look at myself. The five o’clock shadow and bags under my eyes make me look much older than my age. The vomit taste in my mouth reminds me of a long night of trying to drown my sorrows in whiskey and beer. Tell tale signs of attempted suicide are all over the apartment. The bottles of pills littering the counter by the sink, half empty, spilled over the floor trying to convince myself to take a handful and chase it down with enough alcohol to make me forget I even took those pills.

Johnny Cash songs are still on repeat in the CD player. Another night walking the line between life and death, another night one step away from suicide, another night I survived, but at what price? I still have to face another day in my own personal hell.

After a quick shower and a shave I look somewhat presentable. But in my line of work, it’s not that important if I don’t look like a million dollars, just as long as I don’t look like I’m going to steal the customer’s car and sell it for my next high.

Walking into the kitchen I hear my stomach grumbling. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, or that is what the mom’s on TV always used to say, so I walk over to my refrigerator and open it up. I see exactly what I expected to see. On the left there are still a few beers left over from the night before. On the right hand side there is a loaded revolver.

These are the great decisions in our lives, the choices we face everyday. One road leads to intoxication, the other to some sort of salvation. Do I waste my life or do I waste myself? I stand there staring inside the fridge for a few moments, just thinking about my two options.

The worst part about suicide is that you have to kill yourself. You can talk about it all you like, but there is something in human nature, a self-preservation mode that kicks in, and a fear of death even when you want to die more than anything in the world. I think it is a fear of the unknown. So you end up having to decide between the fear and pain you are accustomed to and the fear and pain you don’t know.

These same thoughts passed through my mind last night, when I tried to take that handful of pills, when I tried to drink myself into a coma, when I tried to blow my fucking head off. So of course, just like last night I opt for the pain I have grown accustomed to. I grab another Pabst to clear my mind and to help relieve the hangover. I chase it down with a few sticks of gum and head out the door for another exciting day at work.