Hands shaking like the alcoholic sitting in front of their
demon longing to reach out and take just one drink. It would melt away the
pain. It would ease just a moment of the thoughts that crash into my soul.
My
drink isn't in a glass or bottle. My drink lives in my head. Shot after shot
swallowed. A mental game with myself. Trying to drink away those thoughts with
the quick shot of spiritual maturity. My whiskey that burns my throat are the
hallow prayers I know I won’t obey in the morning. My crutch is the stench of
my holiness. I’d rather taste the burn of the night then wait for the sweetness
that comes with the morning light.
Proudly I proclaim my own self to free and
how I know better. But in the dark of the night when my pride falls away and my
weakness is exposed all my knowing is proven empty. Instead I shake again,
wanting my drink, resisting moment to moment, fearful of the next fall. I can’t control it. I can’t make the grief
live on my time table. It attacks me at its own moment. In moments I can’t
control.
Waves of tears cascade down my already stained face. Pieces of anger
attach to my eyes and blur everything I see. The battle between hopelessness
and faith is constant. I can’t even write it down. It is my secret flask hidden
in my coat. Buried deep into my heart. I can’t look at it though, not yet. I
know when that flask is opened everything will crash. But I CAN’T do it. You
sit next me. Watching me shake. Knowing my hand is itching for that glass.
You
sit next to me and hold my hand after I cave and I take the drink, failing
again. You let me sob and trench your sleeves in tears. I can’t stop. The tears
pour out harder and harder. Burning my face more than alcohol would burn my
throat. You are silent, no words, and no noises, even your breath is so slight
my ears cannot hear it but you are there.
You are there. Knowing the battle lines I walk are not easy. You just
stay.
I know you could take away the struggle. You could shatter the glass I
hold. You could make my desire for the sweetness of truth the one I crave. I
know you could bind my rebellious angry heart. I know you could move me, take
me away from this place, but you aren't. You are sitting next to me requiring
nothing from me. I can’t look up. My
head hangs in shame and I know I can’t wash this stench off me or walk away
from my crutch. You just sit there. You hold my hand and stay silent. You fill
my mind with peace. Reminding me that this is the only place I can feel peace. Showing
me new grace. A grace that is unfamiliar and strange. This grace that lets me
sit here and fall apart and not be put back together. The comfort is only in
the uncomfortable place.
Sitting here. Fighting. Silence filled with the
unspoken and unknown words. Hands shaking.
