Tears of sickness, tears of sadness, tears of relief-My big cry

Have you ever experienced one big cry that captured several feelings all at once? Some might answer that giving birth to a child could produce that exact effect. I however, not capable of such magic, can only go by my own experience of one big cry I had 17 years ago. It was a blustery, cold, rainy, dark day, just before the wind started its seasonal direction change. Like a first love, a first kiss, the briny bite of my first pickle and the heroic feeling of stealing home, I’ll never forget the big cry in the spring of 2002.

Renewal, rebirth, promise, hope, love, letting go, and embracing something new symbolize the promise Spring brings to bare. I was ready to put the winter in my rear view mirror, in fact, the last 20 winters behind me and dive head first into a whole new world, a new way of life, while leaving behind a lifestyle I could no longer keep up with or remotely call my own. It was time to conquer the beast who controlled me as early as age 12. I had many good times with him over the years or so I thought, but there were many dark times filled with anger and trouble and stupidity. With him in my life I lament the things I lost, what I could have become, talent wasted, reputations tarnished, opportunities vanished. These losses alone could fill a drought induced pond with tears. Sadly, I needed a lake

I woke the morning of my big decision and my big cry, clueless as to the time of day let alone the exact day, I was numb, my head throbbed and my only recollection of the night before was standing up from the couch and falling head first directly on to the marble, fireplace hearth. That certainly explained the lump on my forehead and partially the reason why I ran to the bathroom to extricate the contents of my stomach. Unfortunately I hadn’t eaten in 4 or 5 days and the most I could muster was 30 minutes of dry heaves. When I finally rose from my knees and looked in the mirror, I saw an unrecognizable man with liquid red eyes, a scraggly beard and hair to match and a white t-shirt stained in vomit, tobacco juice, and something red. I stared in disbelief, filled with sickness and thought, god, please let there be more vodka in the house. My prayers were answered as if he were taunting me to end it all. I had in fact set out several weeks previous to drink myself to oblivion or, as some would say, death and I asked him to help. Sure enough there was a half empty two liter bottle in the refrigerator along with several other empty bottles beside it and more strewn throughout the kitchen, living room, bathroom and closet like dead wasps after smoke out. I took the bottle from the fridge, held it to my mouth with frail shaky hands and stopped. I was looking in the mirror at myself, lost, dazed, confused, eyes of dragon, shaking, swaying, petrified, hating, scared, sad, lonely and lost. I ran to bathroom to continue the retching that produced nothing more than a heartbeat nearing tachycardia and eyes exploding with liquid and pain as if ready to break like the yoke of an egg. It was at that point when the tears began. Settling again in front of the mirror I took a harder longer look at the damage I had done and the metamorphosis that had changed me into the broken man staring back. The tears came fast, they came hard, they began to fill that dry pond and they announced their presence as tears of sickness. Not just the physical sickness and the mental sickness but also the visual sickness which covered me like a wool blanket filled with rose bush barbs and broken glass. This madness had to end. I had to end this relationship with cunning, baffling and powerful and the time was now. I grabbed my friend by his neck, turned him upside down, and shook him until there was nothing left inside. I tossed him into the next room, slammed the door and turned back to the mirror as the tears of sadness announced their presence on the stage. Like a flashflood my tears swept me under multiple levels of sadness; the site I saw before me, the loss of a long time friend, the feeling of what’s next and the crazy thought of who would be my friend if I didn’t drink anymore. Imagine such a crazy thought. I survived though. Blue sky’s, cool breezes, fresh air, and making love as the mist of a crackling thunderstorm blew through the screened windows and tickled us until we found safety under the covers in each other’s arms.

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We all have a story. Mine no better than yours, no worse. I write because it free’s my troubled, cluttered mind. Read my stuff and feel me..

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Reed Holt

We all have a story. Mine no better than yours, no worse. I write because it free’s my troubled, cluttered mind. Read my stuff and feel me..