I saw that girl again. I was walking down 12th Avenue to grab a beer at noon because I always grab a beer at noon, and then another at 2pm and then at 4pm and by the time I get home I drink at least 5 more. But I saw her. I saw her before I had started drinking and initially, when I saw her I didn’t want to drink my first beer. I didn’t want to keep walking down 12th to the cheap bar where happy hour is every hour. I wanted to stop and admire her face, her face that looks so much like the face I love. I wanted to see her up close but she kept walking and then she stopped and I considered going over to her, speaking to her, but as soon as I built up enough courage, there he was, bigger than I, stronger than I, more attractive than I, and I can only assume more intelligent, more driven, motivated, he probably has a good job. So instead I kept walking and I went to that bar and I had that beer, and then I realized I didn’t work that day so I had another. And then I told the bartender I wanted one more and he told me it was 2 for 1 that day so I decided I should probably have another. Then after that one I had another, and with the 2 for 1 still withstanding, I had another, and then I looked at the time and it had only been an hour since I’d been in the bar but I had drunk 6 beers and I wasn’t entirely sure why.That night I had a headache. I had a headache because I drank a lot of beer in the middle of the day, and I had listened to too much metal through tiny headphones for too long. I didn’t want to become an alcoholic, but I kept telling myself I wasn’t an alcoholic because I could stop if I wanted to, there just wasn’t a reason for me to stop today, or yesterday, or tomorrow. I shouldn’t stop, because when I stop drinking I start thinking and when I start thinking I start feeling all the things I don’t want to feel and everything about her creeps into my mind and I can’t stop it so I keep drinking and she doesn’t enter my mind and instead I just think about those big-breasted women who wear too much makeup that I see on Porn Hub, violently fucking men without feeling. Sex as an emotionless hobby makes sense to me when I’m broken. When I get off to porn I can finally sleep. Alcohol and porn are the only things that put me to sleep anymore.

I woke up the next morning with another throbbing headache. I remembered I had drunk a lot of beer at noon, and then I had come back and last night I drank a lot more beer. Despite my pounding headache I was thinking about how good a Bloody Mary sounded. I called into work and I told them I was sick with the flu, I told myself it was winter so no one would worry and I made myself a Bloody Mary and I drank it at 10am and then by noon I had already had 3 more and by 2pm I had had 5 Bloody Marys and I was sitting at my desk composing an email to her, the one I love, that I knew I shouldn’t send.

She emailed me back within the hour. I fell asleep at 4pm and woke up at 6pm, and at that time I promptly poured myself a glass of Evan Williams and I sat at my desk and before I even opened her email I chugged the brown liquid until I could see through the bottom of the glass. The internet was loading slowly so I decided it wouldn’t hurt to pour another drink, so I did, but this time I filled the cup to the top and I took a large gulp, counting to five before I pulled it away from my chapped lips. Then I saw there was a considerable amount of liquor drawn from my glass and that didn’t seem fair, so I filled it to the top again and I went back and sat at my desk. I opened up her email and I read the first line but soon my head was spinning, if not from alcohol then from too much emotion and every word looked like three words stacked on top of each other so I couldn’t read anymore and after the first line it didn’t seem like I needed to bother myself with the other lines so I closed my laptop and drank the rest of my whiskey.

That night I was wasted, I cried a lot and I picked at the scabs on my wrists. I thought about how it was the first night since I started drinking that I couldn’t get myself to sleep with drunkenness or porn.

I guess I fell asleep but I woke again at 2am feeling lousier than I had felt before and I wished I had never gone to sleep in the first place. I laid there and I thought about the girl I saw with the buff guy and I fantasized about what it might be like if I would’ve gotten the chance to talk to her, maybe take her on a date, open up to her. I imagined she would tell me about her rough childhood and how her dad left her and her mother was addicted to coke, her brother was 10 years older than her and she never really knew him. She would tell me about this 5-year stint she had where all she would do was cry, and I would tell her I could relate and we would laugh at our misery and kiss for hours and tell each other we could be lonely together.

I was alone when I woke up. Not that it was surprising. I was always alone when I woke up. But that morning I had an idea, and idea I had played over and over in my mind, but hadn’t thought about it since 6 months ago when she left me.

I called her. I called her and I told her I loved her and I read her email, or, part of her email, and I understood and I told her I was sorry and I just wanted her to be happy because that was all I had ever wanted and then I hung up the phone and I blocked and deleted her number and tossed it to the other side of the room. I looked into the mirror and didn’t like my face, or my body, and today that was okay. It worked out well with my plan, because if I liked any part of myself today I wouldn’t want to go through with my plan even though I knew my plan was the best plan I had ever had.

I used to take medicine for depression but I stopped about 3 months ago because it made me forget how her lips felt and it made me forget what it felt like to hold her in my arms and I decided I would rather be despondent than forget her touch so I stopped taking the pills. I had 3 bottles of 100 mg of Lexapro lined up in a row in my medicine cabinet above my sink because I thought if I kept picking up the bottles from CVS no one would wonder why I wasn’t taking it like I should’ve been.

The little orange bottles were lined up in front of me on the white shelves and I had the half-empty bottle of Evan Williams in my hand and I noticed a weird feeling I hadn’t felt since the last time I had been happy. It was a passive feeling of content and I just smiled a goofy smile, a smile I hadn’t smiled in over 6 months and it felt powerful and exotic and I knew I was doing the right thing.

I thought about writing a note but I decided I had already told the only person I loved what I needed to tell her.

I swallowed handful after handful of Lexapro and I was frustrated because at first I didn’t feel anything. I opened bottle number 2 and downed it and then I felt disconnected and fading but ecstatic. My body was separating from my soul and I was hovering in a dimension I’d never known before and I felt euphoric for the first time since I was a child.

My heartbeat slowed.

My mind cleared.

Someone was knocking on the door of my apartment.

Harder.

Knocking.

I was fading.

Someone was in my apartment.

I was fading.

It was a woman. She was yelling my name; she was shaking my body.

She smelled so familiar.

I couldn’t speak. Her face was a blur.

She seemed so familiar; she seemed so upset.

I was fading.

I heard her crying and I realized who she was.

She told me she loved me.

I didn’t want this anymore.

“I love you more,” I managed to say.

And I was gone.

JMS