An Officer and a Junkie by Michael Winder

Author:Michael Winder
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Health Communications, Inc.

26

Ward 3A

October 2001

As I poke my head out from under the covers, my partially shut eyes scan the room, searching—but for what? To say I’m disoriented is putting it mildly.

Where am I? I wonder.

Something is off, even wrong, perhaps. A dense chill runs through my body, and I am consumed by a relatively foreign feeling which tells me that today, October 3, 2001, is going to be an extremely important day in my life. I am not comfortable with this premonition at all.

Finally, it hits: I’m in that hotel room. I might know where I am, now, but my head is still so incredibly clouded. Looking around the room, all I see is alcohol, alcohol, and much more alcohol. The room is shocking. I feel like Nicholas Cage in a scene from Leaving Las Vegas.

“Jesus, could I really have drunk all this?” I ask myself out loud, looking at the impressive collection of empty vodka bottles.

My cell phone is ringing. Without even looking to see who it is, I throw the phone against the wall; there is no way I am speaking to anyone right now.

I am anxious and apparently unhappy with something, but I still can’t make heads or tails of it. As I lie in bed, I feel an even eerier feeling come over me; I am very afraid, but I have no idea of what. I don’t want to move.

Five minutes after waking up, I make the initial connection to the previous evening, which starts a domino effect in my recall. I realize that my mind is not just foggy but awkward and clumsy as well, and moving at an extremely erratic pace. I recognize this weird state that my mind is in; there is no mistaking it, I have been there many times before. The day after consuming large quantities of LSD and alcohol is brutal on the brain. Things just barely start to make sense, when I start crying.

This is the worst, the absolute worst! I think. I’m lying in a bed, in a hotel room, by myself, and I’m crying. And I don’t even fucking know why. However, I do know that I am very sad and that something is very, very wrong. This is the worst, the absolute, motherfucking worst!

I try to stop crying, but I can feel it inside me. A deep, sharp piercing pain is moving through my heart and my mind; there is no escape. Then, suddenly, I remember everything, all of it, in total detail, and all I can think of, as I pull the covers tight, trying to hide, is an intense desire simply to forget. All I want is to hide and forget. Why can’t I just forget?

After my trip to Nashville, I had returned to Fort Stewart and Emily’s apartment. One night I got really, really drunk and said some distasteful things to Emily, and she immediately told me to leave her apartment. As Pete tried to talk some sense into me, I couldn’t help bursting into uncontrollable tears.

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