He's at it again. But he doesn't mean it. Right? Wait no, no doubt. He doesn't mean it, yeah, I'm sure of that. Practically sure, almost sure. Almost? No, sure. Okay, stop it, you are sure, you are confident and you know it. You really know it. Go on, get up, go to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror. Yeah, that's it, with discretion, nobody is noticing , you're doing great. Stare into the mirror, go on. I see what I shouldn't see, I see a haggard woman, ridden with the years of continuous repetition. Mark. And spirits. My husband and alcohol.
For thinking it could go away so quickly, the punishment is to endure the pain for a longer period. Much to say about last night, yet so little to be able to tell. Imagine yourself in a dinner party with two old friends you haven't seen in a long time. Imagine a carefully set up table, with each tableware carefully laid out, each knife, each fork, placed with the exact measures required for the perfect dinning place. Imagine candlelight lighting up each plate with a exquisite delicacy, the amount needed to see the luxuries calculated on each place. A work of art, to be exact. And yes, I most definitely went all out to make everything perfect. Wouldn't you do that, taking in consideration that the friends coming to dinner were one of the richest and, I hate to admit, snobbiest couples around. To have everything laid out as it is supposed to is practically doing nothing for the great Mrs.Enriqueta Williams, note the sarcasm.
At the beginning, everything went as planned, with no reason to fear the wrath of gossip flowing around, sprouting from Mrs.Williams mouth. Then my dear Mark took out another bottle of red wine, and another, and another. Already Mrs.Williams mouth was turned down in distaste, and Mark's comments getting louder by the moment, reaching the level of shouting I was so used to hearing every single day, from dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn.
I know he doesn't mean it, he just really likes to drink, what happened last night was just another mistake of his, he doesn't mean no harm. Yesterday, an oddness in between the usual roughness of the situation, a disadvantage of sorts to the rest of us. Mrs.Williams acted affected while her husband merely looked looked down at Mark.And even they knew the worst was still to come, the starting of the parade was as commonly known as the introductions for the upcoming masterpiece, for the work of art prepared by the host of the show, in this case, Mark. And true to his word, Mark displayed an uncanny enthusiasm as he retold stories of the past, so enthusiastic with his wonderful past that the stores were being linked together in a nonsense of slurred words jumbling out in a hurried mass of misunderstanding.
I can not quite remember the number of the many wine bottles displayed on the table, nor can I recount the beers wasted in honour of the festivity. Shameful fact being the festive occasion used as an excuse, yet if not for a special night, many more would have been opened. I thoroughly hate, pardon my excessive use of the word unfortunately needed, anything to do with alcohol, ridden into my system throughout the years like a disease waiting to be cured, but never having enough funds to be able to get through the never ending bad patch.
At the beginning, everything went as planned, with no reason to fear the wrath of gossip flowing around, sprouting from Mrs.Williams mouth. Then my dear Mark took out another bottle of red wine, and another, and another. Already Mrs.Williams mouth was turned down in distaste, and Mark's comments getting louder by the moment, reaching the level of shouting I was so used to hearing every single day, from dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn.
I know he doesn't mean it, he just really likes to drink, what happened last night was just another mistake of his, he doesn't mean no harm. Yesterday, an oddness in between the usual roughness of the situation, a disadvantage of sorts to the rest of us. Mrs.Williams acted affected while her husband merely looked looked down at Mark.And even they knew the worst was still to come, the starting of the parade was as commonly known as the introductions for the upcoming masterpiece, for the work of art prepared by the host of the show, in this case, Mark. And true to his word, Mark displayed an uncanny enthusiasm as he retold stories of the past, so enthusiastic with his wonderful past that the stores were being linked together in a nonsense of slurred words jumbling out in a hurried mass of misunderstanding.
I can not quite remember the number of the many wine bottles displayed on the table, nor can I recount the beers wasted in honour of the festivity. Shameful fact being the festive occasion used as an excuse, yet if not for a special night, many more would have been opened. I thoroughly hate, pardon my excessive use of the word unfortunately needed, anything to do with alcohol, ridden into my system throughout the years like a disease waiting to be cured, but never having enough funds to be able to get through the never ending bad patch.
Throughout the night, a sour taste invaded my palate, in honour of my dear Mark. But he meant no harm, I know he didn't, he never does. It's only the alcohol taking, you can't blame him, it wasn't his fault. From many have come the words I now dread, one day he'll hurt you, don't take it lightly, it's a big problem, don't defend him, etc. But my mind may not care, for love has over-passed anything else, to even begin to ponder about the dangers only some people can bring on.
Rowdy and violent, desperate and loud, Mark is. But alas, never shall a fault of his be pulled to light by me. To me, he is but the divine perfection.The Williams wasted no time to flee the nest of destruction living in my household. If only but anybody else could see the halo around Mark, I wouldn't strive so for what is a building without its foundations. And for what unknown fact shall I destroy the glue holding me together, for which crimes should Mark pay, but for the one of loving me.
Rowdy and violent, desperate and loud, Mark is. But alas, never shall a fault of his be pulled to light by me. To me, he is but the divine perfection.The Williams wasted no time to flee the nest of destruction living in my household. If only but anybody else could see the halo around Mark, I wouldn't strive so for what is a building without its foundations. And for what unknown fact shall I destroy the glue holding me together, for which crimes should Mark pay, but for the one of loving me.
To me, the ruined table that lays in the dining room is worth but a mere thought, a bitter memory of a passed night. To me, the smell that still lingers throughout the house is like smelling yourself, you know it exists yet you are oblivious to the smell any longer. Yet, if I were to think about it I would smell it, and admit I must, the smell is slightly different. Lighter. For Mark passed out long before he could drink his daily share of alcohol, his rightful medicine, as he might say. A rightful sin, as others might say. A rightful life, as I permanently will say.
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Addiction to alcohol is not something to be taken lightly. The character in my story was a devoted wife who never saw any harm in what her husband was doing. She will sometimes lose it and think that it is actually wrong, yet she will continue to protect and defend him.
Alcohol addiction can be caused by many, many factors, of which we have no right to judge but we do have to take precautions with those who live around us, and take care of them, help them and, most of all, love them through it all, just be careful to not overdo it like my character, because then it becomes a serious problem that is very, very hard to overcome. The most important fact os to help with the problem because as much as you may convince yourself, it IS a problem.
http://www.helpguide.org/mental/alcohol_abuse_alcoholism_help_treatment_prevention.htm
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2013/09/26/steps-toward-recovery-from-alcohol-addiction/
http://www.narconon.org/drug-rehab/alcoholic-family.html
http://www.helpguide.org/mental/alcohol_abuse_alcoholism_signs_effects_treatment.htm
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