An addiction was something that took over our minds and bodies. It was something we related everything we saw to. We basically lived off the simple thought of it.
I wasn't addicted to her; I could hardly remember her face. Alcohol had washed it away, perhaps for the better. But I couldn't stop thinking about all that she made me feel. Happiness, lust, hilarity, but also sadness, emptiness and betrayal. I was addicted to these things she made me feel, to all of them. It was scary because I couldn't help thinking about how useless she made me feel, and still I didn't seem to blame her. She had turned me into a shadow of myself, a monster sometimes, and still, I could not move on.
I was sat at home, the night beginning to take over the town, just watching the dried beer and blood on the wall. She had somehow forced me to do it. She had made me lose control. Once again, it was awful to see how badly she could damage me when she wasn't even here anymore, when I hadn't seen her in months. I had made decisions which had caused me to let her destroy me. How I sometimes wished I could go back in time. However, I wasn't sure I would do anything differently. I was that weak.
My eyes wandered to the guitar on my couch. There was a time this instrument was the most important thing to me. And then she came and thought I played too loudly. She started picking up fights when I told her I needed to play. At some point, I decided that I loved her more than my music and that she was worth giving up the only constant I had ever had in my life. To this day, I still couldn't make up my mind about the truth of this statement. We'd had amazing moments together, and extremely bad ones too. After all, life was made of ups and downs.
I felt a ball of rage building inside of me. I had done everything she wanted me to do and yet she left me without a second thought. The only reason she ever gave me for abandoning me was that she didn't love me. It felt like she had taken a knife, cut my chest open and slowly cut every vein and artery which supplied blood not only to my heart but through my entire body. And then, she had left me alone on the floor to die.
Without thinking about it twice, I got up and took my guitar. The rage disappeared instantly as I couldn't think of something to do now that I had it in my hands. I knew my whole soul was represented in that instrument and I didn't know how to handle it. It felt like my own soul didn't belong to me anymore. It had been anchored to a music instrument because it had no other choice but to detach itself from me to survive. And now, it wasn't sure if it was safe to come back to me.
I sat on the couch and breathed deeply a couple of times. Anxiety was growing when I moved my fingers on the neck of the guitar: Did I still know how to play? Could I find a way to prove I wanted to be myself again? When I picked the first string I realised that people changed but never completely lost touch with who they used to be. And honestly, it had never feel more amazing to dive into the past.
***
I was sitting at the counter again, waiting for Eric to come over. Something was different today. I was different. Or perhaps the same old self. I hadn't figured it out yet.
"Hi mate! What do you have here?" He smiled, pointing at the case next to me.
"Just something I thought I'd take with me for a while." I answered. "Can I have a beer, please?"
Once I had drunk it, I thanked him and got out of the bar before asking for something else to drink. Changes took a long time to be effective and I knew certain weaknesses were stronger than newly found strengths.
I wandered the streets, a cigarette in hand, looking for a place I was too intoxicated to remember well. As if luck was on my side, I heard the sound of guitar strings being strummed. I smiled to myself as my feet hurried to find the man from yesterday. I sat next to him and took my guitar out of its case. When I looked up to meet his eyes and make sure he was fine with me playing with him, I saw an encouraging grin upon his lips.
We never talked, just played random chords and melodies, often looking into each other's eyes to be greeted by something we had both craved for so long: a new hope. People sometimes looked at us as if we were the most ridiculous human beings on earth, but we couldn't care less.
There, next to this stranger, I realised the importance of some things. In that moment, I had no more problems, no more addiction, nothing. We were just two people playing the guitar in the streets in the middle of the night because we didn't have anything else to do. It felt good.
We stopped playing about two hours later, both of us getting up and putting our guitars back in their cases, still not saying anything. Words weren't needed and we didn't want to ruin the moment by saying something useless. We parted ways, and I went home, hoping that the man also had a home to get back to.
For the first time in months, I didn't have to think twice about where I should turn to get back to my apartment. It was natural, and I liked that some usual things were back in my life.
I showered and went to sleep. Well, I laid still on my bed before trying turning over a couple of times before realising that sleep wasn't coming my way. Somehow, my body didn't want to rest. I remembered it was that way the first two days after our break up, when I hadn't started drinking. I wouldn't sleep, I'd be turning over and over again all night long until the sun rays showed up and lit the room so I'd get up, tired and stressed out. During the day, I would yell at everybody for nothing. And basically just hate myself for believing in love.
Not wanting any more memories to come back, I went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. It was as if I was discovering a new drink because, apparently, I had forgotten what it tasted like. That sent a wave of cold down my spine.
I remembered my father telling me that a lot of horrible things would happen to me, that it was just what made life worth living. He said the downs made us feel alive, in the same way the ups did. When I had told him that I was quitting high school to become a musician, he said that everything that hurt too much could be turned into a song. That, this way, I could let it out and it'd ease the pain.
I hadn't noticed it until now, but it was true. When I first started to play on the streets, I used to wake up and feel terrible because of the backaches and stomach cramps from hunger. But as soon as I began to play, I felt better. I didn't make much money, but I didn't care. I knew I would've carried on living this way if I hadn't met her. And eventually, I would've signed a record deal. I used to be determined, and my music was what I believed the most in.
While tidying the mess the apartment was, I came upon a small book I forgot I still had. A songbook. I breathed deeply to try and get my thoughts organized before slowly opening it to see the beginning of a song dating back from years ago.
I'm getting very edgy
Cos you're trying to take this from me
And it's something that I wanted so bad
Cos you're the definition
Of someone who has to ruin
The best thing that I ever had.
I didn't remember writing this, but it honestly felt on point. I tried to rebuild the melody on my guitar, hoping to finish something I should've cared more about a long time ago.
***
I couldn't remember how many coffees I'd drunk last night but it didn't matter because, for once, I didn't wake up to a headache. I had fallen asleep on my couch, pieces of papers scattered around me. I could tell it wasn't late, and it only made me feel better. I had wasted enough time already. Now, I had to make it up to myself.
I went to the fridge to find something to eat but there was nothing in it except for one bottle of beer. Deciding that drinking alcohol in the morning was something I should never have done, I made myself another coffee and changed clothes.
Today was the day I'd regain control over myself and do absolutely all I wanted of my life.
I was making my way to the bar, breathing in the calming smoke of a cigarette, when I came to the conclusion that this was all an illusion, me wanting to focus only on music again. I knew I was doing that because if I didn't change, I'd end up drinking the one glass that would send me into another world, perhaps more peaceful, but who truly knew? Even if I acted a bit careless, I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let her win.
Deep down, I knew alcohol was just a way to bury the pain she had caused so deep that I wouldn't have to live every day with it. It had worked for a while but had soon enough brought another kind of pain into my life.
"Hi Laura! I'd like to ask something to the owner. Could you maybe give him this? I'll come back this afternoon." I said and handed her a piece of paper.
I got out and did the same thing in a few other places, leaving a letter asking if I could play in the corner of a room. I didn't ask for money even if I knew my financial state was quite dramatic because it wasn't the point just yet. What mattered the most at that moment was to get my will to live back.