Twenty Years Of Self Destruction, Just One More

[Sober Duck]

Twenty Years Of Self Destruction
By
Richard Moylan

As I lay in the sand and in my own feces I could not help but realize things aren't going to get any better. I reminiscence of how I use to be, the life of every party, oh the parties. How I went from a bashful young man to a boisterous overbearing loud obnoxious drunk in just a few years, hell over night it seemed. I tried to stand only to fall again and again. I tried to crawl but coordination eluded me and the pain from the glass imbedded in my knees was unbearable. I finally made it to a rotten tree trunk and managed to pull myself up into a sitting position. As I looked around I noticed that the rotten tree trunk appeared to be in better shape than me, it definitely smelled better. I asked myself, "what the hell happened?"
I remembered ordering my very first drink, a whiskey and water I think it was and from there it didn't take long to get to where I am now. At first I drank with resolve, slowly building up a tolerance thinking this is great. False courage filled all my voids and allowed me to venture where I would never go before. My tongue silvered and my nerve grew long. Don Juan became one of my newly acquired personalities allowing me to sweet talk the opposite sex which didn't go over well with my ex-wife. I enjoyed many a woman until the tell-tail signs of my addiction became apparent. Rotting teeth and facial scars from knife fights began to chase off any chances of romance. My pores reeked of stale booze enhanced by body odor. Been a while since I touched the opposite sex, but that doesn't matter for I have a new companion, John Barleycorn. John and I seem to fight a lot though, I think that's how I ended up against this old trunk. Yep, I'm sure of it, John put me here.

Just One More
By
Sober Duck
As I cried, I mumbled to myself over and over, "enough, enough" but I kept reaching for more. I couldn't help myself. As long as it's plentiful there's no stopping. God how did this happen? What went wrong? I feel like mold growing in an old cup of coffee and my mind is trying to achieve lift off. This can't go on much longer. I should go out and let someone know I'm alive. It's been six days since I've seen sun light and I've lost ten pounds.

"Where am I?"


"You're at Walter Reed Hospital."

"What am I doing here?"

"You overdosed."

"Well, I have to get Home."

"I'm sorry, but you're not going anywhere."

"Why not?"

"When they found you, you were almost dead. You had lost circulation to your legs. You don't have them anymore besides when you were found you still had quite a stash so I don't think the officer outside the door will let you leave."