Frayed and ruined relations flow from remains of a life of liquors past. When drinking I seemed hell bent on destruction of all leaving a wake of harsh, hurtful, and haunting words. Savaging relationships without even realizing what I had said when my breath turned sober. I wonder now where these words came from. These crazy emotions that seem so distant, foreign, and as if another being had said them. Alcohol is a hijacker-a mobster who tells my brain we have your license so we know where you live and if you tell anybody about it’s over for you. So I awoke dumbfounded at how I could have done such actions that now still leave my stomach queasy, and my hands still stained red from the murder of friendships, and lovers past. A simple sorry won’t bring them back to life. These are my scarlet letters etched deep in my bones as a reminder of booze’s hellbent desire at turning love into chaos. Chaos into isolation. Isolation into loneliness. Lonliness into a desire to end it all. But today I choose to wash my hands- a baptism in Gomorrah- and trudge forth with an honest heart in hand. For I won’t be able to mend all the relationships I lost. But I also know I won’t let myself be deceived into destroying another.
Published by Patrick Bernard
Patrick Bernard is a professional writer, dj, soccer coach and the Lebron James of the blog game. He has MFA from SNHU in creative non-fiction and has wrote for various magazines and websites such as the Boston Phoenix, Wire, Turntablelab, and numerous freelance projects including some of your favorite dj’s bios. His writing explores everything from mental health, professional wrestling, music, recovery, suicide, trauma, cam models, obscure kraut/psyche rock, murder, house music, death, weirdos, train bums and gratitude. View all posts by Patrick Bernard