And I wake...

Ever had one of those mornings where you wake up and realise how bad your life is going? That all of a sudden you are no longer functioning, no longer feel like a normal human being, a functioning member of society? Your life is falling to pieces around you and you have only just realised- how do I pick them up? How do I get back to where I want to be? How did things get to this point in the first place?

I wake up after my alarm has gone off about ten times, parched, dry, tired, and with a headache- the legacy of drinking till I went to bed the night before. I realise that it is starting to get in the way of my functioning- that the more I want to give up alcohol, the more I need to drink; and I can never just stop and a few glasses, always I am needing more, craving the numbness it brings to my body; the sleep that blocks away the outside world.

I lie there with my head pounding before I drag myself up to survey my room. Clothes are strewn everywhere, amongst books, bags, random scraps of paper that are probably no longer of any use, but just might be...haphazardly shoved to the side, out of sight, out of mind.

I realise that my life, like my room, is in chaos around me.

All morning, in a fogged state of half-consciousness, I know that things are not right. Not dead, but not quite alive, not asleep, but not yet fully awake, I feel like I am having an out of body experience. Images from haunted dreams shuttle in and out of my thoughts as trains at a busy station; graves and tombstones, rotting corpses in coffins, dying, death.

My eyes are weighted. My head is heavy. My body is a burden I can no longer stand to bear.

A million hot drops in the shower fall on my aching neck and shoulders, their drumming fingers soothing the tired, worn skin. How I wish I could clean the inside of me, to scrape the ugly darkness from within my being and watch it seep down the drain and to oblivion. I see it in the pores of my skin like black, slimy oil, impervious to the soap and water I scrub on, staining me with its existence, its repulsive presence in my life.

I am falling and grasping at the cold, cruel, empty air.

Part of me fears the death I know is coming- the unknown it brings. But I fear to live more in this ugly state of living death. My soul yearns for peace, to be embraced by comfort, to flee from this scarred, diseased and broken body.

Give light to my eyes O Lord or I will sleep in death. (Ps. 13)

If you are holding me, lift me up, or let me go. Just don’t leave me here to rot in my living hell.

Written by Rachel 2/4/2007