Spreading my sad mood around the globe tonight. Written for the 'withdrawal' prompt.
Title: Sticks and Stones
I've fallen off the wagon several times from just a few choice words.
Bill, I want a divorce.
There was pain then, despite everything. It didn't matter that things had been wrong for years, it still hurt. I'd still gone out and gotten drunk, and stayed drunk for days afterwards.
Your son's been in an accident.
There was pain then, and it remained. I couldn't hide it away in a bottom drawer to drag out once a year. I couldn't numb it. It never abated, no matter how much I tried to drown it in a sea of alcohol.
My cancer has returned.
There was pain then, simmering, ready to explode. I had no Gods to turn to, so I tried her and alcohol. I couldn't get enough of either.
Now, all those words and pain seem inconsequential.
A new ache, one that eclipses every other I've endured, is settled in my gut and refusing to budge. It's as physical as two bullets to the chest.
I wonder how long I'll need to stay drunk-days won't cut it. All because of a few choice words; ones I will add to my 'most-hated' list.
Bill, I'm moving into guest quarters.