a/n: I am super nervous to post this, but I want honest reviews because this may be a series I continue (I already have an idea for Patsy) This one may seem a tad dramatic but this is actually adapted from a piece of A-Level work I did a couple of years ago. Please let me know what you think.. okay..
My name is Beatrix Franklin and I'm an alcoholic.
But I'll never admit it. Not to anyone other than myself.
Each morning I wake with the same dull ache in my head, clouding my mind, seizing my emotions, cunningly thieving me of every sane thought I once possessed.
Some days I feel everything.
Other days I feel nothing at all.
I don't know what's worse. Drowning beneath the waves or dying from the thirst.
For once in my life I thought everything was perfect.
But now. Now I feel like I've been ripped apart. Limb by limb. My bones are shattering within. My heart is caving in. It's a never ending war and the only choice I have is to live. Or die trying.
A few weeks ago I had all I could have ever wished for. A fiancé. A career I loved. A career that I do love. But being with a happy family for a mere few hours just isn't enough anymore.
Even now, years later, I still yearn for a happy family.
I still see that young child crying outside of her father's room. She's still in me. She'll never leave me.
The grey clouds are beginning to take over the beaming light in my life but for me there is no silver lining. I feel like there's nothing left for me. My once wishful thoughts have turned into desperate clutches at what small threads of hope I can find lying beneath my feet.
The demons have resided in me for years, ever since the moment I first saw my father with a bottle. And each time I fed his addiction they clawed at my insides, the cuts getting deeper and deeper. Since then they have refused to leave me, they've unpacked their poisonous bags and settled themselves deep within me, only satisfied when fed with alcohol. They now live as apart of me, growing bigger as each day passes. Slowly taking over me, controlling me, destroying any inch of happiness I ever had. I am a prisoner of my own body. No part of me has gone unscathed. I am dented, cracked, broken, weakened. My ups and downs have smoothed into a level line of downs.
It's hard to imagine a time when I could sleep without having to drink myself into oblivion.
Now I live to dodge the toxic bullets aimed at my thoughts. Hoping, praying, that one day I won't have to silence these thoughts with the stiff stench of scotch.
I often question why did things go wrong? Why isn't Lady Luck my friend? I used to be so good at putting on the Miss Shirley Temple act, pretending everything was okay. I used to be able to hide the broken person behind the smile.
Alcoholic.
The single word that destroyed my life.
My father was one.
I fed his addiction.
And now I'm one.
It's nothing less than I deserve.
Breaking the engagement off with Tom was the straw that broke the weak camel's back. He never understood me. How could he? He couldn't see that it wasn't the thought of a life as a Curate's wife that I resented. It was myself. He never wanted to help me. To him I am just another lost soul who paved their own destructive path to heaven.
Right now the safety walls of my life are crumbling down. Bit by bit. Little by little. Right in front of my eyes. And the worst part?
There's nothing I can do to stop it.
There's only so much one person can take before the shattered pieces cannot be put back together like a sick twisted jigsaw.
The bottle is empty now.
As am I.