Nutshell book cover

Nutshell


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Submitted by mollie.b.map on October 20, 2024


								
“You woke up this morning, that's a start. Now, you have to get out of bed, get dressed and go downstairs. Once you are down there you will plan what to do next.” This is the start of every day for me. This is what I have to tell myself every morning, just so I can somehow live this life I have been given. Sometimes there are instances when you can see your own life flashing before your eyes and it gets you thinking “Is this where I want to be? Is this the place where I see myself in another 3 years?” I have a problem, I can admit that. I have a big problem, that I'm scared of. I'm scared of myself. This problem makes me scared, I know that. I have no one, no one to help me. I can't deal with this on my own, but who do I ask, when I have no one. Not even my neighbor speaks to me. Probably scared of me, just like I am. I’m afraid of where it's taking me, I'm afraid that I might not survive long enough to know. People say to me, “Why do you do this to yourself? You are destroying your life!” When I was 6, I watched my Dad smash an empty bottle of whiskey over my mom's head. While I sat on the stairs, I watched how my dad watched my mom die. He didn't do anything, because he was so drunk he didn't know what was going on. I sat there, quietly crying. I was scared. That's what I tell myself so the guilt of sitting there watching my dad, looking over my mom while she died, doesn’t eat me alive. My dad woke up the next day, to me sitting next to my mom's lifeless body. My dad and I don't have much in common, well we don't have anything in common, this I suppose is our bond. He didn't know he had a problem, I do, I know I do. All my life I have been tossed around houses, like a charity box at Christmas. You might see that as the beginning of my addiction. I wasn't loved, I wasn't cared for like a little child should have been. As soon as I turned 16, I ran away. I got out of the system. I lived on the streets until I was 18. I moved in with this kind couple, they had lost their son to drugs, they said I reminded them of him. They had no one, just like me. I lived with them, until they both passed. Everything they had was in this little cottage. Which they left to me. You see I don't really have a reason to be drinking my life away. I am a successful writer and have numerous published books. I have a cat. I have a minor problem, it's my fault I suppose. I am surely and indefinitely addicted to Alcohol. Don't get me wrong it hasn't always been the type of addiction where one would kill for a bottle of beer. At the beginning it was a couple of drinks when I came home from work. But it escalated pretty fast. It was a drink before work, then I would come home and kill for something far stronger that leaves a burning sensation down your throat and a sting behind your eyelids. It was an addiction where when I didn't know how to feel, I turned to my new found companion. It didn't shout back at me, it didn't pick at my faults, didn't call me names, it didn't say that I was a worthless mistake. It welcomed me with open arms and I embraced the feeling of not caring. Sure it was a great weight off my shoulders just to forget everything for a moment and just… be. But then I’d wake up and you would think I would regret everything single thing I did the night before, trust me I wish I did. All I could think about was getting home and doing it all over again. So instead of waiting I would just start in the morning. Spending my day with no worries at all. And now here I am. Trying to think yet another reason why not to pick the bottle up and forget. I can't even think straight to even think about thinking. “You are stronger than this”. My mother's voice. Leave the bottle on the table, get up, get out the house, take a walk. Anything. Do anything. I feel hollow. An empty nutshell, my disguise. One day, I will get up. One day, will be the day that I change. The day I fight back. The day I won't go away. I won't let a label define me. I will get past this. I will grab the man by his shoulder and I will sling him across the room, sending his gun skidding across the cold floor. I will. But not today. I can't today.
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Mollie Borras

I am 25 years old, born in August, which makes me a Leo. I enjoy reading and writing short stories. more…

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