Take It All Away

My failed attempts at reconciling our marriage only seemed to trigger my ego further. Instead of swallowing my pride and admitting, “I was wrong. I’m sorry,” I’d defiantly proclaim, “I’m King Roach! Fuck that!” The more lonely I felt, the more I’d go out and get hammered. I split my drinking sessions between home and the Anti-Social, hoping that alcohol would rid me of every draining memory that plagued my everyday existence. One night, I found myself at TBA Brooklyn for an Anti-Social event. I could feel the bass vibrating through my body as the blue dance lights pulsed throughout the club. A sea of people surrounded me, but I couldn’t have felt more alone. Everyone seemed to be in their own world, dancing and laughing, oblivious to the turmoil that was consuming me. The club’s atmosphere was a strange mix of hedonism and melancholy, with the music’s upbeat tempo contrasting sharply against the somber expressions on some of the patrons’ faces. The room was dimly lit, the blue lights casting eerie shadows on the walls and giving the space an otherworldly feel. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and perfume, making it difficult to breathe at times. As I stood at the bar, I downed one drink after another, desperately trying to numb the pain and forget the mistakes I had made. My thoughts were a cacophony of self-loathing and regret, the alcohol only serving to amplify the noise in my head. I wanted to escape, to lose myself in the music and the dancing, but it felt like an impossibility. The weight of my past decisions was like an anchor, dragging me down and keeping me from finding any solace. Every time the DJ transitioned to a new song, I’d feel a momentary jolt of excitement, only to be dragged back into the depths of my despair as the memories of Brenna and our life together came flooding back. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was unworthy of happiness or forgiveness, that I had lost my chance at redemption.