Obsession

Prose Poem

Panic attacks and numbness work to break you. They build and build and build until you need

something, anything to make you feel again. Alcohol peers around the corner at that. Waltzes

over like a friend and offers a place for you to rest your head. A drink or two at a party because

you’re young and dumb quickly becomes an all-encompassing obsession, a need for the next

cup. Alcohol may be spreading fake joy, but fake joy is real enough for you. Your friends keep

your cup full, the cheap vodka burns your nose as you raise the bottle to your lips. It’s just a little

mix of depression pills and alcohol to keep yourself going. No one even notices. Then when you

don’t have it, your breath is catching in your throat. Hands become claws turned against your

own body. Words caught like liquid fire, unable to escape. Now unable to stand being around

anyone but unable to be alone. Suddenly there it is again, peering around a corner. Not the cheap

vodka this time, as you’re all too broke to afford even that, but you’ll take anything. So you mix

that coffee liqueur with grape juice and choke it down. It’s viscous as it slides down your throat,

plopping into your stomach and coating your mouth with a taste so vile you immediately place a

piece of chocolate on your tongue. Allow it to melt, overcoming the flavor before going for

another drink.

Depression tears your life apart

Alcohol gives you a hand, lifts you

Up onto your feet and brings you high

Into the sky.

Then you step back and it drops you flat.

Leaves you broken and bleeding on the floor.

You reach for that hand. It lifts you high.

A game you don’t like to play but when it’s good it’s so good.

It’s joy and laughter and buzzing and fear and confusion and a lack of care.

Once there was a teenage girl who found that she was so consumed in her depression, that she

allowed herself to be consumed instead by alcohol believing it would fix all her problems. She

was a scared and depressed child. She was ignored by friends who watched it all unfold. She was

me, and I was an alcoholic.