Wanna read that I am NOT glamorizing alcoholism at all. Please do not use alcohol to cope<3
Casey
Time began to fly by. Days blended together into weeks. As the days went by, I continued digging deeper into a hole of despair. Somehow, half of November passed by and I didn't even notice. I forgot November even started, how could it be halfway over?
My grades began to plummet, dropping lower than I ever imagined. Flashbacks of past events have begun to haunt me again, corrupting my sleep schedule. My yearning for alcohol has worsened. Most nights, the only way I can get myself to close my eyes is through drunkenness.
However, drinking helps me feel something every now and again. It helps take the edge off of life for some time. It helps me forget my past. I know I shouldn't use it to cope. I know I shouldn't be stealing from my grandpa when I haven't had a proper conversation with him in weeks.
I don't care, though. I don't care about anything or anyone. I feel as if nothing is worth it anymore. Nothing in my life feels right. Thoughts of harming myself lingered in my mind, plotting a sweet escape or distraction. I wanted more than starving pains and pleasure to control.
Aside from drinking, masturbating has also helped. My emptiness pauses and I feel pure euphoria. Those few minutes of pleasure became a drug to me. Most days, I feel as if my dick is going to fall off due me to jerking it so much (I'm so sorry for this sentance). Again, though, I don't care. My dick's not going to matter when I'm dead.
"Your room looks like shit," is what I woke up to. My door slams shut, making me groan at the loudness. The light flicker on, blinding me. I groan again, slapping my hands over my squinting eyes. "Wake up, it's past 2."
"Go away."
Camila steps over things on my floor, struggling to reach my bed. "No. You're a complete mess."
Who does she think she is coming into my room and insulting me? "Thanks, I really needed to hear that."
"I'm serious, Casey." Camila picks up a water bottle full of dark liquid. Daringly, she sniffs it then scowls. "Have you been drinking?"
Why is she talking so loud? And what if that was my piss bottle? "Keep your voice down," I hiss. "Some, yeah, but I'm fine."
Camila sighs, "Casey."
"I got it under control," I insist. I'm not sure if I'm convincing her or myself. Nothing feels in my control anymore. Starving and drinking has gotten out of control, so now everything in my life is spiraling.
"You know Grandma thinks you're going to shoot yourself or something."
Oh, how I wish I could. "That's extreme."
"I'm deadass with you, she told me before I came in..." Camila gestures to my room, "whatever this is."
My eyes scan. I can't see my floors due to the amount of things on them. Random mountains of clothes cover the ground. Crumbled water bottles flood my trash bin. I inhale a deep breath and almost gag; my room smells disgusting. A mixture of alcohol and body odor floated through the air. Most of it is detected from my body. My room matches how I feel; a disaster.
Camila demands that I shower, volunteering to clean the my room. She knows I rather kill myself than clean. Showering seems like an even worse task, though. Brushing my teeth and washing my hair seems unbearable. It takes minutes and many tears for me to undress and talk myself into opening the shower curtain.
