Breaking the Bottle #9

by | Oct 3, 2017

After we spread grandma’s ashes and things in the yard, and I’d had some time to heal, I decided that it would be a good time to go back up north to Chicago. By heal I mean a few more wasted days, and the means to get the hell out of that town. I’d made arrangements to live with my friend Sydney while I got on my feet, and I was doing my best to focus on something other than the loss of my grandmother. Anything was better than focusing on that, so back to Chicago I went where much to my surmise, things only took a turn for the worse.

Initially I did find a job, and re connected with Jorge, who was more than happy to see me and pick up where we left off with our arrangement. I told him what had happened with grandma, and that I had to get out of there, and I needed his help. I’d had a boyfriend or two during all of this, but they never asked questions, and I never explained myself. I had become a bit ashamed of my lifestyle, so I kept it under my hat that I was essentially a high dollar escort, minus ever participating in sexual favors.

He called me his ‘thousand dollar a day girl’ which seemed to keep him focused at work in the ways of making more money to support this arrangement we had. I wasn’t bothered with either title, and none of his friends came to know anything other than we were friends. Some assumed we were dating, but less than a handful ever inquired. Jorge was a very polite and respectful man with very gentlemanly ways. I chalked his keeping this arrangement for so long up to him being lonely but not wanting to be in a relationship at the same time. He’d say it was because I was so wild and outgoing that it made him feel young to just be around me.

After a few weeks doing the door to door sales, I was starting to feel like all of my friends weren’t really my friends at all, but that they were mocking me. To comfort myself I’d just get bigger bags of cocaine, have an extra drink, or find a new bed mate for the time being. I was going out on dates about 3 times a week looking for a legitimate mate and just couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t land a real relationship. I lost my job, just plain gave up, and wallowed so deeply in my emotions that didn’t bother taking note of just how much I was consuming and how little I was sleeping.

I was completely unaware of what in the hell was happening in reality at this point. I didn’t even know what the word meant. I simply slipped into the bright light that was beckoning me, followed by brief moments of being aware of the sirens, an I.V. line in my arm, and the out of body experience of watching myself go through the whole ordeal. I was dying, and I was alone, all due to my self-pity, and weakness to the bottle, the pills, and the cocaine. Not a single person gave a shit about me or saving my life other than perhaps the doctors, nurses, and other staff that were so frantically trying to pull me back to the side of the living. After a brief screeching of what was presumably a heart monitor, I felt a lightning bolt to my chest and can still recall the burn in my lungs from gasping for that gulp of air.