Room For Hope

Holed up in a seedy motel room, I had just come off a week-and-a-half stint in jail and a one-week drinking binge. I had drunk everything I could get my hands on and spent my last dime on the motel and booze. I was out of solutions save one--suicide. It seemed somehow comforting to think that I wouldn't have to live in the pain and misery of my alcoholism any longer. I reflected on all the people in my life and imagined their sorrow at my passing. I pictured my funeral and the crying and shaking of heads from the collective mourners. However, I snapped back to some semblance of reality and knew there would be no funeral, no mourners, no sad obituary. No, I had abandoned all the people in my life so that I could drink without their recriminations and I would die as I had chosen to live: alone, ill, and hopeless.