in the cashier's line and my heart begins to race, my pulse begins to rise, erratic, thrusting my body into reaction. my head swims and my cheeks heat and i think i could faint standing right here in this convenience store for no better reason than that i am sober.
at work someone drops a stapler behind me and my reaction is too blatant to not have to laugh off to those around me. but the panic that has risen in my chest still threatens to choke me, my breath is shallow and high and fast. my hands are shaking and i wish i could physically press the anxiety down back into my stomach, but it spreads and spreads for no better reason than that i am sober.
interaction after interaction, i deal with the surprise, the doubt, the you're-joking-right questions of people i used to down bottle after bottle alongside. one raised eyebrow and i think i could sink into the floor, or possibly self-immolate, based just on how i feel in these moments. the depression has already risen above my throat, wet and still rising, and i think maybe my next drink will be a nice long dose of self-hatred, the mud of my loathing and fears, for no better reason than that i am sober.
quiet, calm, alone in my home, the thought crosses my mind that i will probably die the next time i do coke. and this doesn't cause sadness, or worry, or fear, but a tight, sarcastic smile, and a whole embrace of that eventuality. my death and i hold hands comfortably now for no better reason than that i am sober.