Just Close Your Eyes

My head was pounding, a sharp reminder of the long night I had just endured. The sun beamed through the window, its rays piercing through the haze of my still foggy mind. I groggily opened my eyes and found myself sprawled out on Nuck’s sofa, the previous night’s events playing back to me in disjointed, fragmented scenes. As the pieces came together, I felt a heavy weight in my chest – a suffocating mixture of guilt, shame, and unbearable loss. My sister Angie’s funeral had taken me further into my descent, my emotions a hurricane within me, and I had drowned the storm with alcohol. I remembered standing in the back of the funeral home, a small bottle of Hennessy clenched in my hand, as the sorrowful cries of friends and family echoed through the room. Faces from my past had gathered, their eyes a mix of sympathy and judgment. Fueled by alcohol and pain, I stumbled up to the podium, intending to give a heartfelt speech in Angie’s memory. Instead, I slurred my words, telling people what I thought of them and making a complete ass of myself. The room was a blur, and the funeral procession moved forward without me. A dear friend, who arrived late, handed me a bag of mushrooms, which I concealed before making the reckless decision to head over to FirstLive. The night was a whirlwind of drinks and disrespect. The argument between Brenna and I was the final straw. I found myself alone in the cold streets at 3 am, waiting for Nuck to come rescue me from my self-destruction. We went back to his house, where I continued my binge before finally passing out on the sofa. The morning brought with it a rush of regret. I fumbled for my phone, which had died at some point during the night. Plugging it in, I anxiously waited for it to come back to life. As soon as the screen lit up, a barrage of missed calls and voicemails greeted me. My heart sank. The burial had already happened, and I had missed it. I wasn’t there for my sister, my family, or myself. I stared at the phone, feeling the crushing weight of my actions bearing down on me. Nuck’s living room was silent, and in that moment, I knew I had hit rock bottom. I had let my addiction and my pain overpower me, and I had lost a part of myself in the process. The realization was like a sucker punch to my gut, leaving me breathless and reeling. I’d take the long walk toward my mother’s house where everyone had gathered, awaiting the disappointment they’d inevitably display upon seeing my face in the condition I was in.