Sketches of Sobriety, part i

August, 2012.

They say go into the rooms. There will be other people with the same sort of or sort of the same problem and there will be truth and there will be coffee. A set of beliefs created these rooms and also set the rules. Anonymity is the biggest thing. It has to be.

It’s been a a few weeks since that night, with the wet clothes and the angry girl and the post-mortem whiskeys.

The days since have been a series of ZZZZZT jolts you’re ok ZZZZZT you’re so not, sonotsonot.

Everything is bright and white hot. And moving ZZZZZZT fast and getting jumbledtogether and everythingisgoingtobeoknoitsnoteverythingisfuckedandyouraloneandthereisnothingyoucandobuttrynottoinfectothersyoZZZZZZZZTHSETSDFLKSDFGLKHSDpatiencelovehope. Shhhh, air in, air out, go into the rooms.

No sleep ZZZZT I am wandering around a church and there are muffled sounds from other areas and books in pews and GOD and there are a lot of rooms. It’s on this floor, no GOD it’s next floor, beads of sweat, knots and knots and thud Thud THUD against ribs.

Here’s the room. Where are they?

The white light is coming in hot through the windows. There is one person sitting down. He looks at meZZZZT upfuckingpatheticimdoingtherightthing. I sit ZZZZZT down.

He looks at me. I look at him. His eyes are searching and bloodshot. Are they placid? Either way, bloodshot.

We wait for other people to show up. They don’t.

It all started with two people. ZZZSlowly, OK, this is what it is going to be.