As the smoke dances around my face, I grimace as I float back to the fact that I have no reason to go into my home, there's no one there, no sound of laughter, no sound of tears, nothing.
Nothingness. That's what my life has become. I sink deeper into the shadows of the night with the only two things in my life that bring me short solace. My newly acquired bottle of liquor and my cigarettes.
Even walking the short distance to the liquor store is a chore. I'm there so often they know me by name, albeit not my real name. Again, I'm alone. No one knows who I am exactly, not even me. I don't know if I ever will become who I was.
My family is gone, my husband is gone, my children are gone and I'm left alone in the one place that I should have never made it back to alive.
I should have had my own body bag just like the rest of the others.
And they say I'm the lucky one. How the hell do they know? I think they make up names for the problems that I came back with trying to make me feel as if I'm not crazy. I know I'm crazy. I know I've lost it and because of that fact, I know I am now alone.
Nothingness, that's what I want.
The only way to make that happen is sitting inside my jacket pocket waiting to be opened and to be taken. I'm not crazy, I'm just numb. A numbness that fills every ounce of my being, every inch of my body, every section of my mind. As I take another drink, another rough pull of the bottle, more numbness settles in and my resolve to live is gone.
Right, I forgot, I guess I am the lucky one.