One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, four – I suck down drinks with a wince until I’m drunk enough to suck ‘em down and not wince. It’s Friday, the start of the weekend, and that means I’ve got a full week of shit to forget about, just like every other weekend that ever has been and probably ever will be. Tonight I won’t remember that exam I failed on Tuesday or that on Wednesday I cheated on my girlfriend for the second time. By midnight I won’t remember exactly how many drinks I’ve had or exactly what bar I’m at. I’ll forget that I was late on my rent payment yet again this month due to my total inability to save money for important things.

I’ll become the here and the now and the music and the lights and the laughter and the touching and the friendship and the youth. For a short period I’ll take my life into my own hands.

The thing about alcohol, though, is that it’s called a depressant for a reason. Once I come down, I’ll find myself down some alley or on some curb, my head in my hands and my girl rubbing my back and doing her best to stop my tears. But I won’t stop crying because all of a sudden I remember that exam I failed which is just the latest of many keeping me from graduating. I remember my continuing infidelity, my financial instability. But I especially remember the drunken car crash that killed my brother and left me without a scratch.

He was going to be a dad. He never knew. Kaila is 18 weeks old now, and she will never forgive me when she’s grown. Neither will her mother, or my own. My dad hasn’t spoken to me in over six months. He hates me, and I would hate me, too. I do hate me. I can’t blame any of them.

All I can do is try to forget, one drink at a time, one night at a time.

Tomorrow I can try again.

Somehow I let the fear get inside. It slips in and takes me unawares, forcing a sharp intake of breath which allows nervousness and anxiety to find their way. They take hold, staking claim from my head to my stomach, bringing dizziness and queasiness. They surround my lungs so that I can’t breathe, and infiltrate all limbs so I can’t walk or hold myself up. The last to surrender, my heart alone fights them off as if to shout “you have no business here,” but it fatigues and weakens. The turmoil forms tears which well up inside my whole body and yet don’t come, for it is instead your gaze which meets my eyes, and your hand which encompasses mine. With one touch you end my struggle, and exile the fear which consumes me when you are not near. With you my heart will always be the victor.