A loner's Ravings

The fever subsided. But the right ear remained blocked. The doctor, ever so cautious, prescribed some medicines. He also said she might need "further evaluation". She was scared. A simple cold, fever and blocked sinus. That is all there is to it, she told herself. Yet she knew she was deluding herself. There is no way out of this. The smallest illness would appear menacing.

Again I am back in the valley of memories. Cold rain thunders down all around me. It has been raining here for three days without a pause. So I am confined to my room most of the time. The rain is so madly heavy, the earth and the grass doesn't smell fresh, like after the first drops of rain kissing the earth. I get the smell of muddy water, washing away the slime of summer. You are here. Everywhere. I see you in the rain. In the grass. In my soul. I can see your smile and your laughter in the play of the rain and the earth. I miss you so much, it is like the rain has washed away my very being. I don't see why I am here, all alone. Be happy, Dearest.

The impact of the diagnosis had been devastating. Her thoughts flew to the old days-the good days, she thought wryly. Were they ever good? The introspection had begun some days ago. She had started asking questions about herself. About things she had never imagined could even be questioned. Things like breakfast. What is there to question about breakfast? Well, try this - Why should I make breakfast. Or any other food for that matter. Why wash the clothes?

I have been reading up on alcoholism. Apparently you are an alcoholic when your life revolves around alcohol, when it starts affecting your family, friends, work and your life in general. At that point, in fact a long before that point you are already an alcoholic, only thing is you had never realized it. Soon the point of no return is reached when you are totally enslaved.

My old companion is back. Dark, brooding, forever sincere and relentless, like god. You hold my life in your hands and play with it. No quarter given. Dear friend, darkest depression. You visit uninvited and you take control. I am tired. Sick and tired of fighting you. I accept defeat. Call me a coward, but I cannot fight any more.

What power, what evil power does alcohol have over me ! I know I am not alone. But the world of fiction ceated by this liquid is indeed small and fearsome. And I have to battle alone. No excuses, man. It is not just your world.