“And on my deathbed I will pray to the gods and the angels,
Like a pagan to anyone who will take me to heaven;
To a place I recall, I was there so long ago.
The sky was bruised, the wine was bled, and there you led me on.”
Surrounded by people I call friends, surrounded by people I call relatives, holding onto my beer, firmly.
Voices all around me. Making noise and not sense. Attacking me.
I hate gatherings. I hate being surrounded. I do not feel good. In fact, I feel awful.
In my head, the movie begins:
I am standing up on the table, throwing the bottle to the ground. The sound of broken glass makes everyone to look at me.
And then I start to yell. To each of them I tell everything I wanted to tell for a long time, but I didn’t, ’cause I was polite.
But not tonight.
After I told what I had to say, I break at least two tables and chairs. One chair is thrown into a window.
I can feel glass flying right into me, sticking into my flesh, the warmth of blood leaking slowly down my body.
And if that’s not enough, there’s always a Glock to finish the situation.
But the beer is not cold anymore.
And I’m on the verge of an incident.
Laughing next to me, my friend poured accidentally a glass of wine, ruining her perfect dress with lovely flowers.
To me, the dress looks so much better now.
I am getting of the table and walking away without saying goodbye.
I hear my name being called, but I’m not turning or responding.
The car, the road and me.
“Save me from myself, save me from myself….”, repeating into my mind like a broken record player.
After few cuts I’ll be fine. Pouring a full glass of whiskey makes me almost happy. The sound and the scent of the glass filling to the top.
Killing the beast is not easy, and I will do all I can, to make it go away.