Transformation Begins, as my feet slap down against the cold wet pavement, and my face drips rain from the storm, an unrelenting need to drink pushes me further. Exact final destination appears unknown but it's inevitable that the evil inside will again return me to the source of my nightmare. No control, no will of my own, no power had I found that might evict this hell that had infected my body and mind.
Self-identity, and all that was once me, had been buried under countless layers of drunkenness, so deep, that any calls for help were merely an echo inside my head. This living liquid curse, cunning and without conscience, had been absorbed into a body which at one time eagerly welcomed it's unyielding influence. But now, as the onslaught of alcohol turned viciously against the world around me, it was only I being held responsible for it's drunken destruction carried out during my imprisonment. Those intense fear ridden mornings, when I awoke to find yet another nightmare of alcohol's creation, devilishly constructed from it's own personality the night before. Whether it was the sight of dried blood crusted over both hands, or the unfamiliar surroundings of a place where I shouldn't have been, alcohol knew how to render me frozen with crippling insecurity. Too frightened to reason out a healthy answer as to what was happening to me, a deliberate terror of conscience always reached out and tightly gripped my soul.
This devil, disguised and hidden behind my own recently drunken face, knew exactly where I'd run to for help. This was much more then an accident through drink. Alcohol's intent was to survive at all costs, to live and breath it's own existence using me as it's host of choice. But, now, unaware of this developing transformation, all I wanted to do was calm the terror inside my head. There would be only one place, one exit, one chance to escape into a feeling of normality. Alcohol left nothing to chance, and as it waited patiently for me to return a bottle to my lips, I could almost hear a deep sullen laughter quicken my mobility. I desperately needed to lock myself away into the only security I knew, and to experience that precious freedom, I once again had to ingest my enslaver.
Being the eldest child never bothered me in the beginning, but as the years passed, and pressures increased, it was I alone who held the responsibility of growing up. Mom and Dad, although loved in the eyes of a child, did have one large handicap. An intense addiction to alcohol. Childhood became nothing more then an ongoing series of embarrassing situations, each one brought on by the drunken antics of my parents. Unable to fully understand the reasoning behind such painful experiences, a burrowing seed of hate took root deep within my subconscious, attaching itself to the malignancy of a compromised mind.
Throughout these early years, my parents constant battling, both verbal and physical, had very much upset any peace of mind I should have had, but I made myself believe that these actions were normal. Any other way of digesting it would have completely pushed my childhood into the darkness. I was sometimes forced to hold back emotion while my Mother smashed some of my most treasured possessions. And although it tore me up inside, I was not about to give her the satisfaction of seeing my pain.
As usual, my Dad, submissive to her behavior,would come over and try to explain away what had just happened. " Don't worry about it ok", he'd say while trying to salvage what was left lying at my feet, " Your Mom just had too much to drink again". At such an immature stage of my life, his explanations were never enough to extinguish the fire lit deep within my emotions. Desperately needing to vent these feelings of anger, I soon began to see Alcohol as an enemy, and grew to despise it more and more as the years went on. But it was her that focused my complete attention. Drunk or not, it hurt just the same.
When I entered those teenage years, my mind became filled with a hatred that was far too overpowering to resist. I had developed this unhealthy hostility towards anything to do with happiness. Love looked to me like a painful trap that I should never allow in, an almost cancerous growth that was waiting to cause me pain. What little protection Dad once gave had all but eroded by this time. Ironically, he had become a slave to his own relationship with Alcohol, leaving my Brother and I without a safe barrier between ourselves and a drunken Mother. In fact, he now joined the two of us as an added target for her abuse, shattering all respect I had left for him. It was as I looked into his face one evening, drunk, bleeding, defeated, a shadow of the Dad I once saw, that I came to a decision.
Now at seventeen, it was up to me to protect myself, and believe me, I was ready. All the mental anguish that I suffered at their hands, was to stay with me and ferment throughout the coming years of my life. Stripped of all decent human emotion, I felt only contempt for the world, and a strong compulsion to take my revenge. No more would I accept an onslaught of abuse while someone stood over me, laughing from a position of power. I refused to taste my own blood anymore, but instead I could see others bleed. Tears belonged to the weak, and now it was my turn to inflict the same suffering on others and look on as 'their' tears hit the ground.
The day soon arrived when I was unable to hold back these feelings any longer. Festering to a warped state of maturity, a hatred of such high intensity had finally come of age. Walking from our front room into the kitchen, I purposely bumped hard against Mom in an effort to dislodge the whiskey bottle she held uneasily to her lips. Startled by such an unexpected presence, she completely lost hold of it, sending the large brown bottle crashing to the floor. "You son-of-a Bitch!", she screamed, taking a full handful of my hair, "What the hell is Wrong with you!" Normally, as in past situations, I would have screamed out in pain as those hairs were ripped out by the roots and then retreated away in agony to my bedroom. But that was not to be the case this time, for now I was primed and ready with a long overdue revenge that awaited it's victory. Intense energy flowed through me as I swung around to brake her hold, leaving us in new territory and staring hauntingly into one and other's face.
At the same time I shouted in anger, using the same fowl, vulgar language that usually shot from her mouth. She looked stunned, almost submissive, but only for a second. Then, in one swift move, that caught me off guard, her right hand came across and connected hard against my ear. From that moment on, I completely acted on impulse, taking direction from some pre-laid plan I must have rehearsed in my mind dozens of times. Her and Alcohol had no chance against me now.
Gazing down at the floor, her drunken frame lay shocked and injured next to what was left of her golden liquid. I felt a gratified type of strength standing over her, and took this opportunity to destroy all the other bottles of whiskey she had tried to hide in the kitchen. Soon every drop of her evil potion had vanished down the drain, and I cursed out loud, victorious over the poison which had brought me so much pain.
Alarmed by the commotion we were making, Dad rushed in from somewhere inside the apartment, but stopped suddenly when he discovered what I had done. There was no guilt in my mind, I was sure he'd see how great it was for me to have stood up against her for the first time in my life. Unfortunatly his face told a much different story. I watched his eyes turn to me in anger, another form of punishment when all I craved was his support. It was then that I came to realize just how alone I really was, and felt there was no choice but to deliver the same retribution to him for all those years of pain he allowed me to suffer.
In one swift move, I pushed his drunken body violently across our kitchen table and hurried to my room for a jacket. No way could I have spent another minute in that apartment, I needed to find a sense freedom. However, it was soon discovered that the only way out of their apartment was blocked by both parents. Each stood waiting in some kind of unified alliance, intense anger showing clearly on their faces.
Every nerve in my body tensed with anticipation, the next move was mine, I needed to get through that door. Mom was the first to step forward, blood still seeping from her bottom lip. I just wanted out, why were they doing this to me, I was their son! In an unexpected move to seemingly protect his partner, Dad quickly pulled her aside, creating a clear path for an exit. My mind spun wildly with unnatural confusion, both heart and mind looking for a retreat to normality. This opportunity to leave was going to be taken, but as my fingers grabbed quickly for the door , Dad's arm wrapped tightly around my neck. "Just leave me alone!", I shouted, "You don't give a damn about me!", and then easily pried loose his pathetic restraint. As one last measure of defiance, a childhood full of shattered emotions brought my clenched fist hard into a face I once desperately looked to for affection.
There was no turning back now, no time to think, all that existed was anger. I felt satisfaction in having not become a victim for the first time ever, tonight was overwhelmingly different and powerful. Confidence welled inside me as I stepped outside onto the pavement. A profound change had taken place in my personality within those few short minutes.
Even the sight of Dad's tearful exit, as he joined me in the courtyard, couldn't defuse me from this intoxicating behavior. Turning to face any challenge he might have had, I stood waiting as he cautiously approached. There was no hesitation on my part, a strong sense of revenge fueled the strength it took to throw him into the bushes that surrounded our building. All I wanted to do now was walk away and calm myself in the peacefulness of the night. I needed to gather my thoughts and so headed out aimlessly for some peace of mind. Why did this all happen to me?, I wandered while walking down street after street, how did I get here?. Hours passed, and shame replaced my anger as I tried frantically to justify what I had done.
The whole unraveling episode was just a fantasy of mine, it wasn't really suppose to be acted out!
Submitted by Steve Procto in his e-mail he stated: I have been a successfull recovering Alcoholic for over the past 20 years. I have written a book which is not published but the site called, Associated Content is putting it in print. I have only just started submitting some of my work, and will include a sample to follow my letter.
Website:http://www.associatedcontent.com/user/40697/steve_procto.html Thank you for your time
Note: paragraphs added for easier reading. None were in e-mail.
